


The Black Asphodel

by Dementordelta



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Blow Jobs, Humor, M/M, Porn, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-22
Updated: 2013-01-22
Packaged: 2017-11-26 10:20:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 37,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/649528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dementordelta/pseuds/Dementordelta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All of England, including Harry Potter, is mesmerized by that daring hero, the Black Asphodel who risks life and fortune to save French wizards from the Reign of Terror and Madame Guillotine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Black Asphodel

~~**~~

Paris, During the Reign of Terror

Harry's heart thudded in his chest as he caught a glimpse of the rakish profile nearly concealed by the heavy velvet drapes of the theater box just above his head. The mysterious man was in the audience of the Theatre Francais again tonight, in the box closest to the stage. Only the fact that Sirius had drilled his lines into him kept Harry from missing his next cue as he sought to distinguish more of the man's shadowed features. 

"Hold still," his dresser, Madame Malkin, hissed after he ducked into the wings for his mid-act costume change. Harry tried to peer past the scrim to see if the man's gaze had followed him off stage as it had done last night and the night before. "In faith, you're slipperier than a kneazle tonight," she scolded, inspecting his lace cuffs for rips. 

Dutifully Harry held still while she fastened the heavy brocade coat needed for the next act around him. He'd begun to think of the persistent patron as his visitor alone, for he was aware of the man's glittering gaze upon him every moment Harry was on the stage of the Theatre Francaise, his godfather's theater. Conversely, the man always vacated the box by the time the lights went up for the curtain calls so Harry had got only the scantest glimpses of him in return. He could not say why the mysterious admirer had piqued his interest so, only that Harry, used to admiration from strangers in the audience, found this particular stranger more compelling than any he had ever performed for. 

The first night he'd spotted him, Harry had hoped some ardent swain would be waiting for him at the stage door, perhaps clutching roses. No one had been waiting, at least not for Harry, but the box had been visited the next night, and all the ones for a week by the same man. Several times, during his dramatic scenes, Harry, out of the corner of his eye, could see the man leaning forward, as if swept up in his performance. 

"There," Madame Malkin whispered, smoothing an invisible wrinkle from the brocade before shooing Harry back out onto the stage. "Die well tonight."

Harry shot her a jaunty grin. "I always do," he said just loud enough for her to hear. 

After his scene, instead of dashing back to the dressing room he shared with several other young men in the company during the interval, Harry lingered in the wings, trying to stay out of sight while the burly stagehands shifted the set for the second act. 

"Here now, what are you doing, loitering about?" a voice from behind him barked. Harry yelped and got out of the way as a stagehand in a cockaded hat wheeled a massive trunk, crucial for Harry's climatic death scene into place.

"Harry, why aren't you in costume?" came another voice and Harry gave up his vigil with a sigh. Sirius Black, his godfather and stage manager, stood frowning down at him. 

"Just going," Harry replied, abusing the buttons of Madame Malkin's carefully fitted coat. 

Sirius's shrewd gaze surveyed him a moment more. "Full house tonight," he observed with a flick of his head to the sounds of the crowd just beyond the curtain. "Every box is full," he added. Harry felt his cheeks flushing with color.

"I was just--" he stammered, trying to think of a reason he would be trying to see out into the audience.

A hand cupped his chin and tugged it back up. "Careful, boy," Sirius said kindly. 

Harry nodded, and Sirius released his chin. "I'm only looking," Harry said impishly, striking the overly-dramatic pose that had made even hardened theater critics weep during his performance of Orpheus last season. "I want to break a few hearts on my own."

Sirius's smile held fond amusement, but something wistful beneath the humor. "You will, my boy," he said, giving Harry a gentle shove toward the dressing rooms, "of that, I have no doubt."

~~**~~

Harry forced himself to concentrate on his role, that of the heroine's half-brother who is tragically killed in a duel for her honor in the last scene. He poured every nuance of the craft Sirius had taught him into each line, finally expiring in the heroine's arms, only to spring to his feet again for the tumultuous curtain call.

Boldly Harry looked toward the box closest to the stage, hoping against hope that his mysterious swain would reveal himself tonight at last. His heart plummeted. The box was empty again.

A practiced smile adorned his face during the curtain calls. Harry had to step over roses being tossed at his feet to make his way forward for his bows. There was a disappointed roar when he threw no kisses into the crowd before the curtain started to close. His smile faded as soon as the curtain swung shut. He dragged his fingers down the oversize pearl buttons of his frockcoat, giving his cravat a dispirited tug. The other cast members brushed past him, chatting and laughing gaily, off--no doubt--to late night suppers or assignations. 

A hand touched his shoulder and Harry summoned one more smile. "I have a note for you, monsieur," M. Malkin said, patting the capacious pockets of her apron.

"A note?" Harry blinked in confusion. "Has something happened to Sirius?" These were dangerous times--not even the actors and actresses in one of the city's leading theaters were safe. 

" _Non_ ," she said, waving away his anxiety with a Gallic shrug, dislodging scissors and a tape measure from one pocket while Harry hopped impatiently from foot to foot. 

"Who is it from then?" Harry asked, wondering how rude it would be to cast an _Accio_ spell himself on her pockets. 

"How should I know?" she said, peering at a parakeet who squawked in annoyance at being turned out of her apron. "Do I look like the sort who goes around demanding footmen who their masters are?"

"A footman brought it?" Harry asked, breathless excitement quickening his voice. 

"Haven't I just said so?" she replied crossly, but her expression brightened at once as her fingers plunged into a pocket, and they both heard the crinkle of parchment. " _Voila_!" Several butterflies fluttered around her hand as she pulled the note out and handed it to Harry. The butterflies swirled lazily over both their heads before darting into the wings. Madame tsked. "I'll have to catch them again for the first act tomorrow."

Harry, however, had no eyes for butterflies. His eyes fixed on the dark seal on the note, and his heart fluttered as though the butterflies had Apparated inside him. Distantly he heard Madame chattering as she turned away while he stared at the cream-colored note. The seal's device was blurred, but Harry knew no noblemen or aristocrats so wouldn't have known this one by their coat of arms anyway. With trembling fingers, he broke the seal.

 _Monsieur Nigellus_ \-- it began.

Nigellus was the stage name he and Sirius had adopted when coming to France, though Harry didn't remember it, being just a baby. He answered just as often to his first name, Etienne, also bestowed upon him by Sirius for the stage, as he did to his own.

_I am desirous of speaking with you, upon a matter which will, I believe, take up only a small portion of your time. If you would be so kind, I am waiting in my carriage on the Rue Germain. The crest on the carriage matches the one on my seal._

_Your very humble servant--_

There were only initials, two very fancy, interlocked esses that looked like miniature snakes. Harry clasped the note to his chest and blessed whatever gods in the wings that were looking after him. It had to be his visitor. 

He wanted Harry.

And Harry very much wanted to be wanted.

~~**~~

Harry knew the Rue Germaine well. It was one of the main turn-around points for the carriages that dropped off visitors to the theater. At this hour there were only a few hackney cabs waiting for late night stragglers, and one fine carriage. Nervously he ran a hand through his hopelessly untidy hair as he approached the intimidating bulk of the carriage. It was indeed very fine, trimmed in gilt. There was an elaborately carved device on the door and four stamping bays at the head. Before he got too close, however, Harry was challenged by a footman.

"Off with you, boy," came the shout and Harry jumped back. 

When he was on the stage, the scripted lines always flew from his lips with rehearsed ease but when faced with an angry footman and a dark street, Harry stammered. Fumbling a little, he patted his waistcoat for the note he'd tucked inside.

The carriage door swung open and a dark head appeared in the opening. "It's all right," came a cultured voice. English, Harry concluded, though with a very good French accent. "He's expected." The door opened more widely and Harry climbed up the little step and inside. 

The air inside the carriage smelled of fresh herbs, a common practice, Harry had heard, to keep the close air from fouling. Harry sat back against the cushion and stared at his impromptu host. Somehow Harry had known that his visitor would be no young, handsome fop. The reluctance to show his face from the box had perhaps unknowingly alerted Harry that the man disdained parading himself as that class did. Instead the man's face, though lined, had the depth of character of a great tragedian. His hair was as black as Harry's own, though longer, pulled back into a queue and unpowdered in the common English style. His eyes--ah, here Harry had known too, that they would glitter with amusement when first they met. 

"Thank you for meeting me," the man said, in his pleasantly accented French. 

He was immaculately dressed in the haut monde style, his coat a testimony to his tailor, his high boots, a tribute to his valet. The cravat, a frothy confection of lace and silk, Harry supposed, he'd chanced to no hand but his own. There was a large emerald stick pin through the knot, the gem as large as a Runespoor egg and a heavy looking very old ring on the finger of one hand over his glove. 

"My pleasure, monsieur," Harry said, tugging off his high crowned hat and settling it on his lap. 

"I have only a few simple questions for you," continued the man, reaching into his folded cuff and pulling out an ornate snuffbox. 

"Questions, monsieur?" Harry asked, waving away the offered snuffbox. "That is not one of my vices," he said, trying to sound worldly. In truth, Sirius had never let him try it.

"Yes, questions," the man said, with a touch of impatience that pulled his thin lips into a moue, "as I explained in my note."

Harry lowered his eyes demurely, rubbing the front pocket where he'd tucked the note. "I was happy to receive it."

When the man made no reply, Harry lifted his gaze. The man was staring at him as if puzzled. When he saw Harry looking back at him, he cleared his throat and said, "Yes, well, I wanted most specifically to ask you about your father--"

"My father?" Harry sputtered. 

"Yes, I believe I may have known him, under another name of course," the man went on, while Harry's brow darkened.

"You mean you truly wish to ask me these--" He waved one hand vaguely in the air, tilting his hat off his lap, "these questions?"

"Yes, of course," the man said, looking taken aback.

"This is not an assignation?" Harry demanded, half lifting off the carriage seat.

The man's mouth dropped open. "Do I look like a defiler of innocents?" he retorted, leaning forward so that their knees nearly touched.

Harry's outrage ameliorated and he felt a reluctant grin tugging up the corners of his mouth. "Yes, actually, you do, a little," he replied, then attempted a world-weary look. "Besides, I am not an innocent, I'm of age." He sat back down on the leather seat. 

There was a small indelicate noise that might have been a snort from the other side of the carriage. Harry sighed and retrieved his hat from the floor of the carriage. "If you are not going to make mad passionate love to me--" he began.

"In a _carriage_?" the man gasped. 

Harry shrugged. "I suppose it sounds more romantic than it is," he replied wistfully, looking around at the plush interior. He caught the man's languid gaze flicking over him, and it occurred to him that not once had the man made any demur about Harry's sex.

With an expressive sigh, Harry said, "My father, monsieur, I'm afraid I cannot tell you much about him. Both of my parents were killed in a carriage accident when I was but a babe." He fiddled with the buttons on his coat. "May I go? I have another assignation after this."

He heard the swift intake of breath, and before he knew it, the man had grabbed his wrist, as though Harry had actually made a move to leave.

"Little liar," the man hissed, spreading his fingers over the inside of Harry's wrist and yanking him forward. Harry felt his pulse leap as the man's thumb brushed over the vein in his wrist. "You've been watching me every night as assuredly as I've been watching you."

Harry's heart leapt in his chest, beating a frantic tattoo against the man's thumb. "I--I study all my lovers before--"

The man tugged him unresistingly closer, his mouth now very close to Harry's. "Liar," he said again and Harry could feel the whisper of breath across his own lips. 

There was a jingle of harnesses outside and the shout of a coachman, " 'ere now!" The carriage jolted forward a pace as the commotion outside increased. The man's dark eyes darted to the covered window but he kept hold of Harry's wrist. 

"Stand aside, by God--" came a voice that Harry--to his horror--recognized. Without warning, the door of the carriage flung open and Harry's godfather stood glaring between them, his wand drawn.

"Black!" the man hissed, fingers tightening reflexively on Harry's wrist. 

"Snape!" Sirius bellowed, his wand pointing unerringly at the man. "Unhand my godson!"

The man's fingers slipped off as Severus Snape, his father and his godfather's childhood enemy, gazed down at him. 

Harry's head sank into his hat and he groaned. " _Merde_!"

~~**~~

"Of all the reckless, stupid, ill-advised--"

Harry huddled miserably in the wing chair of their usually cozy sitting room. Sirius, when he'd been on the stage, had been able to deliver the longest soliloquies ever written while hardly pausing to draw breath. 

"--reckless--"

"You've used that one already," Harry pointed out.

Sirius, who'd been pacing during his recitation, swung around to face Harry, the tails of his coat fanning out. "Well, it was _doubly_ reckless. How do you think I felt finding you half naked--"

"I was no such thing!" Harry protested, thinking perhaps, if he had been, this lecture might have been worth being discovered in a compromising position with his godfather's enemy. 

"In the arms of Severus Snape," Sirius went on, ignoring Harry's outburst. He'd drawn Snape's name out with extra syllables as though exposing the villain in the last scene of a badly-written play. Almost Harry expected the sitting room lights to dim and the curtain to fall.

"I didn't know who he was," Harry replied as patiently as he could. He had been protesting his innocence since the night before to similar avail. 

"You _should_ have known him," Sirius scowled, looming over Harry's chair. "You should have known those black, beady eyes." He pressed the tips of each forefinger to each thumb and held them up to his own eyes and scowled even though the effect made it look more as if he had spectacles than beady eyes. 

"They weren't beady," Harry said, muffling his own laughter. "They were dark and…and romantic…Like he knew some sort of secret that amused him beyond all measure."

"Or by that great giant beak of his," Sirius went on, miming a giant nose over his own, ignoring Harry's attempts to explain. 

"It was more…" Harry thought of that face hovering so closely over his own, when Snape had pulled him forward in the carriage, "noble, really." He'd checked this morning to see if there were great bruising finger marks on his wrist only to find his arm disappointingly unmarked. Surely such a great adventure should have left marks. 

"Or that greasy mop of his," Sirius said, wrinkling his nose as if he smelled something bad.

"It wasn't greasy," Harry said dreamily, lost again in the moment when Snape's mouth had been very close to his. If only Sirius had been a moment or two longer. "It looked sleek and soft. I'd have liked to have touched it. I'd have liked to have--" He conjured up the same pleasant fantasy he'd had last night, once he was back in his own room, of his fingers tugging loose the black ribbon that held that curtain of black hair back and--

"Not in my house!" Sirius roared.

Harry deflated back into the armchair as the fantasy slipped away. "Yes, Sirius," he sighed.

"And not with Severus Snape," Sirius went on.

"Severus Snape," announced a voice from the doorway. 

Both Harry and Sirius blinked as the name was repeated, then realized it was the butler announcing a visitor. Sirius stared down at the calling card that had been thrust into his hand and scowled. Harry unfolded himself from the armchair and smoothed the fronts of his breeches, then, belatedly remembering his spectacles, took them off and thrust them into a pocket.

"We are not at home to--" Sirius began.

"Of course you are," Snape said appearing in the doorway, a frantic footman behind the butler. Snape doffed his high-crowned hat and pointedly thrust it behind him for the servant to take. The footman looked scandalized, for no gentleman would ever consider entering a house beyond the entrance hall before taking off his hat and gloves. 

Snape looked, to Harry's eyes, every inch a gentleman, resplendent in dark green satin with a silver-embroidered waistcoat. Harry could not help but let his gaze wander lower, over the snug-fitting breeches and gleaming Hessian boots. 

Snape held up a silver quizzing glass and surveyed them. "You look perfectly at home to me." He waved away both butler and footman with a negligent flip of his glass and stepped into the sitting room.

They all stared at one another for a moment, though Harry knew Sirius's silence was more anger than awe.

"Aren't you going to ask your old school friend to sit down?" Snape asked, but he was not looking at Sirius, but at Harry. 

Harry shot to his feet. "Of course we are," he said, sending his godfather what he hoped was a significant look. He took their visitor's arm in what he thought of as a solicitous manner and led him over to the small sofa. Snape flipped his coattails and sank onto the worn brocade, making a startled noise when Harry wedged himself beside him, despite there being barely enough room on the sofa for them both. 

Snape stretched his long legs, the tips of the gleaming Hessians reflecting their silhouettes. This close, Harry could see that his silver waistcoat was embroidered with fashionable silver stitching. 

"What do you want, Snape?" Sirius growled. He hadn't moved from the center of the room save for the agitated clenching of his jaw. 

"It's Sir Severus now," Snape said addressing Harry, ignoring Sirius's discomfort. 

To Harry's surprise, Sirius snorted with amusement. "Finally did your cousin in, did you?" 

Harry's fingers clenched the arm of the sofa, fully expecting Snape to name his seconds and call for swords at dawn. Instead Snape's thin mouth slid into a sort of smile. 

"Natural causes, I'm afraid," Snape replied, "if you can call falling from a horse after a night of drunken debauchery natural."

"Did they test him for poisons?" Sirius pushed. 

Harry gasped. "Sirius!" He glared at his godfather, no longer relying on significant looks. He glanced apologetically at their visitor. "He doesn't mean it."

"Of course he does," Snape said, sounding not the least put out. 

"Of course I do," Sirius said, sinking into the chair vacated by Harry. "Snape was a dab hand at Potions when we were at school."

"Cousin Clyde was quite free of anything save an overabundance of fire whisky," Snape said, and Harry got the feeling it was more for his benefit than Sirius's. "And the ill grace to be a bad judge of horse flesh."

"So you finally got what you always wanted," Sirius said, though his tone was not at all friendly. "Enough money to rival James Potter."

Again Harry's gaze shot to Snape's face, waiting for him balk at the insult to his honor and call Sirius out. Instead Snape made a noise that was almost a laugh. "I've enough now to rival the Potter and the Black fortunes combined," he said, leaning back further on the sofa. The movement brought his thigh sliding against Harry's, though Harry wasn't certain that had been the intended effect.

"Then what do you want here?" Sirius growled, still making no effort to be hospitable. 

Snape glanced at Harry and smiled as if he'd read something in his countenance that pleased him. That smile, the barest flicker at the corners of his mouth, filled Harry with the same languid sort of warmth he'd had in the carriage last night, a warmth that had nothing to do with the temperature from the fire in the grate.

"Simply paying my respects, Englishman to Englishman--now that I know you are English and not French," Snape replied. "Paris has become increasingly hostile to our countrymen."

"To the English aristos," Sirius said, stretching out his legs. 

"And to wizarding kind," Snape said, "With the anti-Apparition wards and other measures in place to keep French wizards from escaping."

Sirius looked at him keenly, an unreadable expression on his face. "What do you know of the measures in place against them?" he asked.

Snape made a dismissive gesture. "No more than what I read in the _Daily Prophet_." He gave another of those lazy smiles to Harry and added, "That's the newspaper for our kind in your homeland."

The way he said 'our kind' made Harry want to shiver, but he held back, not willing to risk provoking Sirius's ire when he seemed, if not to have accepted Snape in their drawing room, then at least not tempted to give their visitor any further reasons to call him out. 

"Harry's home is here," Sirius growled, shifting one booted foot over the opposite leg.

"Just so," Snape replied. "You may imagine my surprise when I glimpsed your godson on the stage. I couldn't help but be…struck by his resemblance to his father." Again Snape glanced at him and a slow flame lit inside Harry. "Though he has his mother's eyes."

"Well, now you know the story," Sirius said briskly, pushing himself up out of his chair. "Lovely catching up with you and all that. I'll have Gargery see you out."

Disappointment that the visit was over so soon depressed Harry's spirits. Then he noticed Snape was making no effort to stand up. Instead he reached inside his coat and pulled out the inlaid snuffbox he'd used last night. Deftly he popped the lid and offered snuff to Harry. Sidling a glance at Sirius, Harry shook his head, trying not to become alarmed at the barely muffled spluttering noises Sirius was making.

"Perhaps you would be so kind," Snape said in that lazy English drawl of his, "as to take a turn about the park with me?" 

It took Harry a moment for the full import of the softly voiced question to make itself known. "Oh yes," he answered without further hesitation.

"Absolutely not," countered Sirius, his cheeks flushing a dull angry red.

Both Harry and Snape looked up as if just remembering he was in the room. "Under no condition will I allow--" Sirius sputtered.

"Allow?" Harry yelped, his brow darkening. He was not a child to be _allowed_.

Sirius wheeled on Snape. "I don't know what you're up to--"

"Up to?" Snape drawled, in a way that had parts of Harry provide their own answer to the question. "I can't imagine what you mean."

"Can't you?" Sirius growled, sounding more and more like he was just changing into his Animagus form, that of a large black dog, though in case it would be more likely to be a large angry black dog. 

"I'll just get my hat," Harry said, hopping off the sofa and barreling up the stairs. He tore through his armoire until he found his best hat and cloak, patting the pocket to make sure he had gloves and rushed back down the stairs, listening for the sound of curses being thrown.

The silence from the drawing room was even more ominous. Harry skidded past a concerned looking Gargery who looked like he was trying to work up the nerve to enter the drawing room. Snape and Sirius stood nose to nose glowering at each other but neither of them looked singed or bloody. Yet. Harry tugged down his waistcoat. "I'm ready!" he called brightly attempting to shrug into his cloak while keeping an eye on them both. Hands closed around his shoulders and settled the cape around them. Harry looked up, smiling gratefully at Snape before settling the hat on his head.

"Take your wand," Sirius said tightly, arms crossed over his chest, vibrating with disapproval. Harry rolled his eyes and followed Snape down the stone stairs in front of the house. 

There was an open curricle waiting by the curb and a bored looking groom holding the reins to a pair of match bays. Eagerly Harry climbed in, clutching his hat when Snape took the reins and urged the horses into a gay trot. The pace was too swift for conversation so Harry drank in the sight of the familiar streets from this new angle. He and Sirius kept only a basic stable, with no money left over for fancy curricles. 

He could not help but steal glances at Sir Severus, admiring the deft fingers threading the reins. Harry's gaze wandered down to the skin tight breeches--so tight he could see the man's thigh muscles clenching as the horses took a particularly narrow turn.

Only when he realized Snape's attention had turned away from the horses and onto Harry did he flush with heat. That lazy smile flickered at the edges of Snape's mouth, catching Harry out with a single glance. 

All too soon they were at the park. Snape tossed the ribbons to the groom as they climbed out. The park, despite no longer being the exclusive charter of the aristos, still teemed with citizens--the fashionable and un-, the aspiring and the sinking, the ever present parade of _mamans_ hoping to make matches for their daughters as well as hopeful young men hoping to catch a glimpse of their lady-loves without their governesses. Here and there were the rosettes of the Revolution, seemingly at odds with the true roses blooming along the peaceful paths. 

"Thank you for coming out with me, M. Potter," Snape said, starting down a well-marked path with Harry at his side, "despite your godfather's…disapproval." 

"Outright loathing, you mean," Harry said, nodding to a young lady and her _maman_. Snape looked at him approvingly. "Why does he hate you so?" Harry asked.

"Say rather that we detested each other quite from the moment we laid eyes on each other," Snape replied.

Another gentleman and a lady passed them, a courting couple from the looks of the chaperone trailing them at a discreet distance. Harry cast an envious glance at the lady's arm tucked securely into the gentleman's. Harry had always understood that deviants such as himself were not allowed such liberties in public. 

"Sirius told me all about his school days at Hogwarts," Harry said, edging a bit closer to Snape on the path. "He said you hated my father and mother."

Snape stopped so abruptly that Harry nearly tilted into him. "That is not true," he said, voice going dangerously low. "Why would I go to such lengths--daring the wrath of your fire-breathing godfather--to make your acquaintance if such were true?" 

Harry had righted himself, making sure they were alone on the path before he said, "You could make me fall in love with you, then abandon me and have your revenge upon them as well as Sirius."

The dark gaze flitted about Harry's mouth. "Could you fall in love with a scoundrel such as me?" Snape asked, his tone equally low and urgent.

Harry repressed the urge to shiver, feeling suddenly as naked as a plucked goose in the marketplace. "I--I am young, m'sieur; I fall in love easily," he said, trying for some semblance of worldliness.

The dismissive gesture was very nearly French. "If I wished revenge on your godfather." Snape said, "I have money and influence enough to ruin him and the Theatre Francaise. As for your parents, even I could derive no satisfaction for revenge upon the dead."

Though Harry had no basis for it, he believed Snape. 

"Besides, what Black said is partially correct. I did hate your father."

Sirius had boasted of the many pranks they had played on the hapless Snape in school. "But not my mother?" Harry guessed. The path wound around a fountain, fish captured in stone, forever spouting water into a tiled basin. The courting couple had stopped to admire it, though to Harry it looked more like the young lady merely wished an excuse to lay her head upon the young man's shoulder. 

"No." Even that single brief syllable was infused with fondness. "I never hated your mother." They too had stopped, a few paces away from the others, though Snape was not admiring the fountain. 

"Did you love her, monsieur?" Harry asked, trying to imagine Snape as an eager swain for his mother's affection. "I know there are men who dally with either sex," he said, affecting a worldly air.

Snape's snort told him just how well he'd succeeded. "A gentleman never discusses such things."

"You said you were a scoundrel," Harry retorted. They had started back down the path.

"And so I am," Snape replied, adjusting one already flawless glove. "Despite that, your mother was very dear to me." The lazy black gaze returned to Harry's mouth. "Not, however, in the manner in which you are thinking."

Harry laughed as they strolled down the manicured paths. "So, because you nursed a tendre for my mother, you are trying to seduce me?"

"You little minx," Snape said, though there was amused tolerance in his tone. "What makes you think I'm trying to seduce you?" 

"Because you were watching me on stage every night just as I watched you," Harry said boldly, using Snape's own admonition back at him. “I'm told there is a hedgerow behind the fountain that is very private," Harry said, pitching his voice low as they passed an overworked governess giving chase to her charges. 

"In a hedgerow?" Snape asked, giving a horrified shudder. "If that is your idea of seduction, your past ones can't have been any good."

Harry shrugged. He had not actually expected Snape to drag him off into the bushes. "There have been so many, I have forgotten."

He was instantly aware of Snape's scrutiny. "I see why you are so good upon the stage," Snape said. Before Harry could quiz him on his meaning, Snape went on. "I am not trying to seduce you."

Dismayed, Harry turned his face away only to have Snape tsk at his side. "I am _going_ to seduce you--properly, slowly, with all your secret desires laid bare for me so that I may choose which to grant. I have known this from the first night I saw you on stage."

Harry's knees nearly gave way. The promise--for the words were so earnestly spoke that they could be no other form of address--made his cock shift treacherously in his breeches. His worldly air sounded a bit strained even to his own ears. "Then you had better be about it, monsieur, we are nearly at your carriage." 

"In time, _cheri_ ," Snape said, taking the reins from the groom and swinging up into the seat of the curricle. 

The heat in Harry's blood only cooled when he realized Snape was taking him, not somewhere exotic for his ravishment, but back to Sirius's townhouse. His disappointment must have shown plainly on his face. Snape brought the horses nigh to the house. "I've an engagement this afternoon," he explained, turning toward Harry. "Have supper with me tonight."

"I have a performance in a few hours," Harry said, desperately wishing he could cry off. 

"Meet me afterward," Snape said, then frowned, sighting something over Harry's shoulder. Harry turned in time to see the front study curtain flutter. "I'll wait for you in the carriage outside the theater."

Harry dared lean only slightly forward. "Until tonight, monsieur," he said.

"Until tonight," Snape said, as Harry climbed off the box. With a flick of his wrist upon the reins, Snape was gone. 

The house was silent when Harry entered. The butler, Gargery, took Harry's hat and cloak, silent rebellion writ upon his face. Harry guessed that he'd been subjected to one of Sirius's rants. In response to Harry's silent inquiry, he merely pointed to the closed study door.

Squaring his shoulders, Harry knocked softly and pushed open the door. "Sirius?"

His godfather sat in a chair by the fire and looked up as if just noticing that Harry had arrived home, though the curtain had caught on the rod from where someone had been fluttering it, no doubt moments before. "Ready for tonight?" he said gruffly.

Harry sank into the chair opposite, feeling the blood draining from his face. Surely Sirius couldn't know about the plans he'd just made with Snape. "T-tonight?" he managed.

"Surely you remember the Marquis d'Malfoy and his family will be in attendance." Sirius replied. "I expect you to give your best performance."

Gratefully Harry relaxed into the chair. "I shall," he said, "I know you expect no less."

For a moment Sirius looked sad and far away, then he rallied. "Perhaps I've burdened you with my own expectations, lad," he said. "We had so little when we left England."

Harry had heard the story many times, how Sirius, in his grief and despair over losing his best friend and his wife, had come to Paris with Harry. He'd been cut off from the family he'd spurned, nearly penniless. He'd started doing magic in the streets, harmless tricks that fooled the Muggles into throwing coins. Eventually he'd joined a street theater troupe, then got parts with legitimate theater companies until earning enough to finance his own company, a company of which Harry had always been a member.

"I'm grateful for--for everything you've done for me," Harry said, more used to his godfather's bluster than this quiet mood. 

"I didn't do it for your gratitude," Sirius said, turning his head to the fire. 

"You have it all the same," Harry said, leaning forward to get Sirius's attention. "And my love. Nothing will ever change that."

There was no palpable change in Sirius's demeanor but Harry sensed that he had said the right thing. Sirius shifted in his chair, bringing his gaze back to meet Harry's. "Careful down this path," he said, "I never knew Severus Snape except that he was up to something."

~~**~~

For the first time, since his nervous debut at the age of eight, Harry almost bollixed up his cue. His pulse had been alternately racing and slowing to a hesitant thud as he got into his costume and make-up, breathlessly waiting for the moment he would step out onto the stage, certain that Sir Severus's eyes would be on him, imagining the delights of the evening to come. 

Eagerly Harry trod out onto the stage, inhaling breath for his first line. A quick glance was all it would take, one sidelong look to see Snape in the box closest to the stage--

Snape _was_ there, in his usual spot--surrounded by three unfamiliar people. Harry nearly faltered with surprise, but somehow managed to get out his lines. Who were they, that leaned so close, laughed so intimately, smiled so familiarly with Snape? A family, to judge by the similarity in coloring. Harry could not see them well, being slightly near-sighted, but could well enough make out three fair-haired strangers clustered about Sir Severus. 

When the curtain closed for the next act, he nearly sagged in relief. He trudged into the wings, pulling listlessly at his cravat. 

"Isn't it thrilling?" M. Malkin asked, rushing to help Harry with his coat. "Amazing, really."

"Amazing," Harry agreed, then frowned in confusion. "What's amazing?"

"Haven't you heard?" M. Malkin tutted at him. "The Black Asphodel snatched another victim from the jaws of Madame Guillotine this very afternoon!" She splayed one hand over the lace fichu covering her bosom and heaved a sigh. 

The news of the daring hero didn't take Harry's mind completely off his own misery, but all of France and probably most of England thrilled to the exploits of the Black Asphodel.

"Who was it this time?" he asked trying to feign interest in a story that once would have thrilled him.

"The Fortescues," Sirius said, coming up behind Harry. "Their confections were favorites of the King, you know, and for that the whole family was sentenced to death."

Harry could not suppress a gasp. He had known several of the Fortescues well and had been visiting their shop ever since he'd started getting his own pocket money. "How did they escape?" he asked, ashamed that he'd been so preoccupied as to have missed the news.

"An upturned pig cart just as the tumbrel passed," M. Malkin said, certain of her attentive audience. "Pigs racing everywhere, knocking over guards and citizens alike. Once they got everything sorted out the Fortescues had just--" She snapped her fingers knowingly. "Vanished with only a calling card with an asphodel flower upon it left in their tumbrel."

"But surely they couldn't have Apparated," Harry said. The anti-Apparition wards had been in place since the Terror had begun and no one, wizard or Muggle, could leave the city without papers. "And they wouldn't have had wands once they were arrested."

"Turned into pigs, most likely," Sirius said, while Madame Malkin nodded. "By the time the Muggles figure it out, they'll be halfway across the channel."

Madame Malkin, hand still clutching her bosom, headed off to spread the tale further. Sirius sobered at once. 

"I'm off tonight, I know," Harry said before the rebuke could come. 

"I asked you specially," Sirius began.

"I know!" Harry repeated, feeling miserable.

"The marquis is a devoted follower of the theater. If we can secure his patronage the Theatre Francaise will have nothing to worry about if the winds shift for our kind." He slid one hand over Harry's shoulder. "We have to be so careful these days."

Harry hung his head. "I didn't know you were that worried about it," he said. 

"I'm not," Sirius said. Harry made a skeptical noise. "All right, I am a bit. A man would have to be a fool not to be worried in these times." 

Harry gave him a reassuring smile. "The second act will be better," he promised. 

"I don't want to see a dry eye in the house when you--" He mimed driving a sword through Harry's gut. Harry clutched his belly, eyes rolling, half-swooning before the laugh bubbled to surface and he grinned and bowed. 

"I always die well," he said. "The critics don't call me The Boy Who Dies for nothing!"

~~**~~

The second act _was_ better. Harry avoided looking at Snape's box, and when his moment came, added silent flailing and a few staggers to his on-stage death. The gasps and sobs when he finally collapsed to the stage were a fitting reward.

For the first time, apparently due to the presence of guests in his box, Snape stayed for the curtain calls, applauding with the rest of the audience. Harry nodded toward their box as roses rained upon the stage. There were indeed three visitors in the box beside Snape, a tall thin man, his blond hair unpowdered and tied back like Snape's, a beautiful woman dressed in the height of fashion and a young man about Harry's age.

Sirius stopped Harry as he emerged from his dressing room, having Scourgified off his stage make-up. "What was Snape doing with the marquis?"

"The--the marquis?" Harry sputtered. 

"If he's trying to sabotage the theater I'll serve his bollocks to Madame Guillotine myself." He clapped one hand to his forehead. "I can't believe I agreed to let you have supper with him!"

Harry's mouth opened in surprise. Sirius had, when told of Harry's invitation for the evening, subjected him to a quarter of an hour rant, ending with a reluctant, "Well, you're of age; I can't stop you."

"I've got to go," Harry said, missing the fastening of his cloak because his fingers were shaking. "I'm sure it'll be all right." 

Tonight Snape's carriage was parked just outside the theater. Harry pushed past the small crowd waiting to meet members of the company, ignoring the admiring glances being thrown his way as he made his way to the carriage. It was then that he noticed the second carriage, with the d'Malfoy coat of arms on the door just behind Snape's carriage. Harry climbed in, eyeing Snape warily.

"You were magnificent," Snape said, leaning back in the cushions.

Harry waved airily. "I am always magnificent, monsieur."

The carriage lurched over a loose cobblestone in the road, spoiling Harry's pose. He flopped back into the cushions, avoiding the swaying lantern. 

"My dear friends, the Marquis d'Malfoy and his family are joining us for supper," Snape said, reaching for his snuffbox. "They were all quite…taken with your performance." He took a pinch of snuff.

"And you, monsieur?" Harry asked.

Snape closed the snuffbox with a snap. "I am quite taken with you as well."

The simple words and the renewed promise in Snape's features allowed Harry to get through dinner. He didn't much care for the d'Malfoys, for they seemed to embody everything the Revolutionary Committee was campaigning against -- indolence, privilege and entitlement. 

The Marquis himself seemed genuinely pleased to make Harry's acquaintance but there was a coldness in his eyes that Harry misliked. The Marchioness, Narcissa, also praised Harry's performance, though more than once she looked like she wanted to pet him like a lap dog. 

It was the youngest d'Malfoy, Draco, who made Harry feel the most uncomfortable. After supper he managed to corner Harry on one side of the drawing room. They'd both refused brandy and cigars, though Harry noticed the Marquis took both, despite his wife's presence. 

"My father says you're going to be a star performer one day," Draco said. The aristocratic drawl that Snape managed so well sounded nasal and petulant in the Malfoy heir's voice.

"That's very kind of him," Harry replied, casting a beseeching look toward Snape. His host, however, seemed deeply entranced by the Marchioness's indifferent pounding on the harpsichord. 

"You'll need a patron," Draco said, though the word 'patron' seemed oddly ill-suited to the expression on his face. "Someone who can introduce you to the right people."

"I'm perfectly content with my godfather's theater," Harry explained, deftly side-stepping when Draco leaned in closer to make his point. He turned to admire a portrait of some long-deceased presumed ancestor of Snape's.

"You'll be wasted there," Draco said, making a face at the portrait. The portrait made a face back and turned away. "Meet me for luncheon tomorrow and we'll discuss it."

"There is nothing to discuss, monsieur," Harry said firmly. He wheeled around to join the small group clustered around the harpsichord.

"Dreadful business," Lucius, the Marquis, was saying. Since Narcissa had stopped playing, Harry could only assume the comment was not in reference to her skill at the harpsichord.

"What is, Monsieur l'Marquis?" Harry asked, standing as close to Snape as he could.

"This Black Asphodel creature," Lucius said with disdain in his voice.

"Surely, dear, he is a hero to wizarding kind. Why only today he snatched the Fortescues from under the very noses of the guard," Narcissa said, her slender frame doing a fair approximation of M. Malkin's more impressive bosom heaving. 

"Why anyone would want to bother about the Fortescues is beyond me," Snape said, as Lucius nodded in agreement. 

"Most wizards are safe under the new regime," Lucius said, taking a sip of his brandy.

"Then why won't they let us Apparate?" Harry asked, earning himself a cold smile from the nobleman. 

"Only a precaution until the new order is established. Then our freedoms will be restored to us," Lucius replied.

"They wouldn't have been to the Fortescues," Harry said, with more heat in his voice than he'd intended. 

"I should be escorting Harry home," Snape interjected quickly, with the barest warning squeeze to his shoulder. 

"We can take him home," Draco said with an icy smirk very much like his father's. "Can't we, _Maman_?"

"Of course we can, darling," Narcissa said dotingly.

Snape's hand remained possessively upon is shoulder. "I'm afraid I promised his godfather that I would see him home personally," Snape said, ringing for a footman. It was such an admirably told lie that Draco could make no reply. Harry mistrusted the calculating look in his eyes, but managed to keep silent until they were in the carriage.

"I do not like your friends," Harry said once the door had been closed behind them and the carriage got underway.

Snape's expression was sardonic. "I'm not certain I like them either." He heaved a sigh. "Still, they are friends." He held up one gloved hand when Harry would question him further. The heavy old ring on his finger caught the lantern light, gleaming dully. "I've something to tell you."

Harry sat back on the cushions. He didn't think Snape was going to tell him anything pleasant.

"I'm leaving Paris tonight," Snape said and Harry's heart went cold, "bound for Calais and on to Dover. My yacht sails on the tide."

"What? Why?" Harry wailed.

"I've urgent business at home, something that cannot wait."

"I see," Harry said, wishing again the d'Malfoys had not intruded on this night. He could not think of anything that urgent, not even one of Sirius's rehearsals. He turned his head toward the window even though the curtains had been pulled closed. 

"I should be back in a fortnight or so," Snape explained, though Harry still didn't look at him. A fortnight might as well be forever.

"You will be welcome back at the theater, monsieur," Harry said, swallowing his disappointment, "should you choose to visit."

There was silence in the coach, save for the steady clip clop of the horse's hooves over the cobblestones. Then Snape spoke. "Don't sulk or I shan't kiss you goodnight."

Harry's frame became energized as though awakening from a dismal slumber. He smiled saucily. "I knew you could not resist me," he said, launching himself across the scant space that separated them. He had reason to thank the excellent coach makers for the sturdiness of their cushions as his weight propelled Snape backward into them.

Strong arms wrapped around him, pulling him deeper into the cushions. "I cannot," Snape said, the words mere ghosts of breath against Harry's lips just before he joined their mouths together.

Harry had sensed the passion that must lay buried beneath the languid gaze and perfect mouth. Every heated suspicion confirmed when the kiss became a fiery thing, flaring like little sparks. Harry groaned between the breaths that had been granted by Snape and found himself being pressed along Snape's lap, arms around his neck. 

Heat stole through his body, enflaming every nerve as he gasped into another kiss. Snape's mouth felt as heated and alive as his own and when a groan flourished between them it was no more Harry's than his own will. His feet no longer touched the floor, legs stretching out along the bench, finding purchase in a more enticing haven--the warm body kissing him into the cushions. 

"Say you'll wait for me," Snape said, barely lifting his lips from Harry's own. The lantern light flickered in the depths of his eyes as they swept Harry's face searchingly. 

Harry was not certain what he should wait for, so he pressed another kiss against Snape's damp lips. Snape made a needy noise and plundered Harry's mouth with his tongue. One hand lay on Harry's chest, still heated like an ember that had escaped the fire. Slowly the hand began to journey down, past the hem of Harry's waistcoat, over the top of his breeches. The pace was so tortuous, punctuated by kisses, that Harry thought he would dissolve before Snape cupped the aching tumescence of his cock.

"I don't want to find you with another man in your bed when I return," Snape said, fingers making filigree tracings over the front of Harry's breeches. "Or boy," he added significantly.

Dazed, Harry shook his head, arching his hips toward Snape, toward the only thing that would ease this sudden wildfire of longing.

"Say you'll wait," Snape said, eyes glittering as they looked down at Harry. A strand of his hair had come loose from his queue and there was high color on his cheeks. 

"Oui, monsieur," Harry said, fingers catching the wisp of loose hair and smoothing it behind one ear, "I shall wait for you." Snape's eyes darkened with triumph, but Harry did not mind being the prize. Not when the buttons of his breeches parted and Snape's hand--no longer gloved, though Harry did not remember him removing it--plunged into his small clothes. The heat of those fingers was no match for Harry's needy prick. 

Harry nearly melted into the cushions, his head lolling back as Snape's mouth slid along his throat. One hand closed around his cock. Harry swirled into the vortex of lust and need that threatened to sweep him away.

 _Mon Dieu_ ," Harry whispered as if in actual prayer, to the god of pleasure that seemed to dwell in the church of Snape's hand. He clutched at the only solid fixture in the vortex as Snape stroked him and shuddered endlessly with release that was almost religious ecstasy. 

Snape went still, save for the hand guiding him through this pleasure, his kisses gentled until Harry sighed softly and opened his eyes. 

"Quite irresistible," Snape decreed, slowly uncurling his fingers and sliding them free of Harry's clothes. He reached into his own coat for a scented handkerchief before his wand to remove the evidence. Harry, still panting and sated, trailed a finger down his chest until he realized Snape was fastidiously tucking him back into his breeches.

"But I want to--" Harry began, quite aware that only a single climax had been reached in the carriage--his. 

Tucking his wand away, Snape lifted Harry's hand and kissed the back of it, caressing his fingers. "We are nearly at the Rue d'Richelieu," he said as Harry too realized the distant clopping of the horse's hooves had slowed. "And I must sail for England on the tide."

~~**~~

There were flowers waiting when Harry got to his dressing room--a huge spray of roses and bluebells and lush greenery. Such bounty was not to be had from the flower girls endlessly plying the city streets, but could only have come from the rich sustained gardens of a chateau. 

Harry did not think Snape the sort to send flowers but he broke the wafer on the note and scanned the single line.

"I can be very good to you," it read, creasing Harry's forehead with a frown until he noted the signature. "Draco d'Malfoy."

Harry burned the note over the lamp flame and gave the flowers to the chorus girls. 

He half expected to see the young lordling in the box closest to the stage but tonight it was bare and dark. The empty box suited his mood far more than the lush flowers, for he knew Snape must be on his home soil, that damp island across the channel that Harry had no memory of. 

There was a carriage waiting outside the stage door, the groom dressed in the silver d'Malfoy livery. Harry waited until the audience had filed out, then ducked out the front door of the theater unnoticed, he hoped, as if he'd merely forgot his gloves during the performance. 

There were neither flowers nor carriage the next evening but on the following day a delivery came to the house on the Rue d'Richelieu a gaily wrapped package addressed to Harry. This time he made sure to read the note first and sent the footman away with his package unopened.

"Lover's spat?" Sirius said as the door closed behind the affronted footman. There was an unmistakable gleam in his godfather's eye.

"It wasn't from Sir Severus," Harry said, trying not to laugh when Sirius's face fell in disappointment.

The d'Malfoy scion was in the theater two nights later, his unmistakable blond visage ensconced in Snape's customary box. For a moment Harry's heart leapt, thinking Snape might have returned and been waylaid by his friend's son on the way to the theater. It took only a moment to ascertain that d'Malfoy was quite alone. He did not shrink back into the shadowy interior of the box as Snape did.

Harry nodded toward him at the bows and spotted the bouquet winging from d'Malfoy's hand in time to catch it. Harry clutched it until he was offstage then threw it down onto the floor. Only then did he realize it was not simply flowers, but concealed a cloth-wrapped bundle with a note.

The note fluttered when he picked it apart from the cloth bundle and Harry realized it had been charmed to resemble a cream-colored owl. At a touch, its parchment wings unfolded, revealing the note.

"I'm waiting," was all it said. 

Incensed, Harry crumpled the note, despite a papery protest from the makeshift owl.

The bundle he did not open, entrusting it instead to his understudy, a pleasant faced boy with a bit of a case of hero worship, with instructions to deliver it to the carriage Harry had no doubt awaited outside. He added a franc to make sure Dennis would not scamper off with the no-doubt expensive bauble. Sirius paid his troupe a decent wage but in these uncertain times it was best not to present too much temptation. 

There were no further rescues by the Black Asphodel, though tumbrels rolled through the streets every day, full of wizards and Muggles alike. 

Of more interest to Harry, there was no word from Sir Severus as the first dreary week of the promised fortnight drew to a close. He'd relived those fevered moments in the carriage endless times since, embellishing the encounter each night. It had become a desperate race out of Paris one step ahead of the patrols, Harry astride Snape's horse, pressed closely into his chest as the stallion flew over hedges and stone fences, coming to a halt so Severus could make love to Harry beside a stream. Harry thought perhaps tonight Snape might actually be a highwayman who stopped the coach Harry was riding in and, overcome with lust, would drag him off into a convenient haystack--in these encounters haystacks were always conveniently placed--and make love to him there. 

When days passed with no further attempts by d'Malfoy to seduce him, Harry hoped perhaps the young man had shifted his attentions elsewhere--perhaps even to Dennis, his understudy. 

So it was a great surprise, after the next night's performance, to find a stranger in his dressing room holding a sealed note. Harry, who'd been undoing his costume coat buttons, stopped and looked at the stranger in surprise. Though not so well dressed as the marquis's footman, there was an air about him that did not belong to the bourgeois. 

"May I help you?" Harry asked, glad that Sirius had always insisted his actors have their wands with them, even on stage. 

The man nodded slowly and held out the note. His gloves were a bit stained but not torn or mended. "I am to wait for a reply," he said with an indefinable accent. 

Harry presented his back and broke the seal on the note, unable to tell from the design whom it was from. Before he could unfold the parchment, he felt a hand cupping one of the cheeks of his arse. 

Outraged, Harry spun around, knocking the footman two steps back. Drawing out his wand, Harry pointed it at the servant, gratified to see that the man flinched at the sight of it. 

"You would do well to remember your place," Harry said, utterly unprepared when the man broke out into a smile.

"Oh, bravo," the man said, reaching for a loop of leather cord dangling in front of his waistcoat. "Well done, Harry."

"What are you--don't drink that!" Harry sputtered but it was too late. A tiny vial had been dangling from the cord, the golden contents sliding down the impudent servant's gullet before Harry could hex him. 

Abruptly the man's features began to shift and melt. Harry tried to think of a spell that would halt the transformation but he had been a rather indifferent student. He was about to conjure ropes to bind the man before whatever hideous transformation this heralded completed when he recognized a singular feature--a nose.

"Don't I even get a kiss in greeting?" came an unmistakable voice just beneath the nose.

"S-sir Severus?" Harry said guardedly as the servant, now taller, shook out the unbound black hair. 

"In the flesh," came his reply. "Well, in someone's flesh anyway." Even with his hair loose and in ill-fitting clothes, the baronet looked elegant. 

Harry lowered his own wand but did not put it away. "How do I know you aren't the rogue who delivered the note now Polyjuiced to look like my lover, Sir Severus?" he asked, though his pulse told him not to question, especially when a flick of Snape's wand transfigured his clothing to his normal sumptuous attire. 

The erstwhile Severus held up the vial, the golden sludge at the bottom gleaming in the candlelight. "This is the antidote to Polyjuice." He upturned the bottle and swiped up a single drop, offering it to Harry's tongue. "See, it does not taste of the vile stuff."

Tentatively Harry tasted the drop, shivering slightly as his tongue brushed just the tip of Snape's finger. He felt none of the tell-tale rippling of his skin as he would have with the noxious potion. 

"It is you!" he cried and flung his arms around Snape.

Snape tilted his chin up with one bare finger that somehow seemed more erotic than if they'd both been naked. "It is," Snape said, lowering his mouth, "no one else will ever kiss you like this."

Even before their lips met Harry was inclined to believe him. Licks of flame ignited within him as his lips parted. Snape's tongue surged against his. Harry moaned as if it was his cue for the sword to pierce him on stage. The sword he felt prodding him, however, was not intent on piercing his heart. 

"Have supper with me tonight," Snape murmured, dragging his mouth away from Harry's and fixing him with a stare. "We will be quite alone."

"It is not supper I wish, monsieur," Harry replied, rewarded by the arousal darkening in Snape's eyes.

"Come away with me then," Snape said, not pretending to misunderstand.

He nodded as Snape's hands slid from around his waist, "I will meet you outside." When Snape seemed about to protest even that small delay, Harry continued. "I must change out of my costume and leave a note for Sirius." He righted the ends of Snape's snowy white cravat. "We don't want him to come looking for me again."

It was only a short time later that Harry climbed into the by-now familiar carriage. Snape's eyes warmed in appreciation as he gave the signal to the coachman to take off. He'd taken time to restore his queue to its normal state and the heavy silver ring was back upon one finger. 

"Did you miss me?" Harry asked, letting Snape tug him onto the bench beside him. 

"Terribly," Snape said, turning his hand over and kissing Harry's palm. "All I could think about was returning to Paris." 

"I waited for you," Harry said, and Snape looked up from his oral examination of Harry's hand. 

"I knew you would." 

Harry waited for the moment when Snape would pull him into his arms but it did not come. Instead Snape turned his hand over again and stroked the back of it, his glove very soft upon Harry's flesh. Then came a slow descent to his wrist, Snape's lips lingering on the thrum of Harry's quickening pulse.

With sudden clarity Harry understood that if they began kissing now, neither would be able to stop. The carriage might have to circuit all of Paris before their passion was spent. A tiny sound escaped his lips, half laughter, half moan. 

"My lovemaking amuses you?" Snape said, lifting his mouth from Harry's fingertips.

"I wish you lived closer to the theater," Harry replied, grateful for the flare of answering amusement he found in the other man's face. 

At last they pulled up in front of Severus's townhouse. The ground floor lights were twinkling in welcome. 

"Have the cook send up a cold supper," Snape instructed the waiting butler as he doffed his hat and gloves. He took Harry's as well and offered them to the impassive servant. Perhaps Sir Severus brought boys home all the time, Harry thought, not altogether pleased by the idea. He lifted his head and peeled off his gloves. Snape was, he consoled himself, his for tonight. 

"And leave it outside the door," Snape went on and at last there was a splash of color creeping up the butler's cheeks. Perhaps not so often as all that, Harry thought with satisfaction.

"This way," Snape said, no longer looking the least bit languid as he gestured up the dimly lit staircase. There was a candle burning in the sconce at the top which lit the way up. Several portraits lined the hall, mostly asleep, though Harry saw more than one painted eye shut hastily upon their passing. Whispers followed from frame to frame. 

The hallway on the next floor was brighter, with several lit sconces along the length. Severus's room was at the end. Just inside the door sat a ladder-back chair tilted against the wall with a dozing house elf sprawled in it. When Snape pushed open the door the two front legs of the chair hit the floor, startling the elf awake.

"So sorry, Sir Severus, sir," the elf squeaked, hastily hopping down from the chair. 

"You may seek your bed, Ffolkes," Snape said just as the valet elf's eyes caught sight of Harry just behind him.

"But--"

"I was taking care of my own clothes long before I acquired the means to have someone do it for me, for many years," Snape said, holding the door open for Harry. 

Ffolkes sketched a bow, his large eyes darting curiously at Harry before he scurried away.

"Come inside before we are descended upon by chambermaids," Snape said as Harry glided past his outstretched arm.

Though the room was not dark--candles glowed by the bed and a fire snapped merrily in the hearth--it took Harry a moment to take it all in. There was an enormous four-poster swathed in heavy silk draperies across from the fireplace. Further along the wall rested a pair of ornate armoires, and along the wall with a window, a walnut escritoire and chair. Another set of farthingale chairs flanked the fireplace, accompanied by a tall bookshelf and a chaise lounge, positioned, Harry supposed, to take advantage of the light.

Arms threaded around his waist and Snape buried his face in Harry's hair with a soft sound. "You can sight see later, _cheri_ , but I need you now," he said, tugging one earlobe into his mouth. 

Harry shivered and turned accommodatingly in his arms. Snape was kissing him before Harry drew breath, coaxing a response Harry was eager to give. He did not know how to be coy with his favors, though he had heard that the gentry sometimes expected it. He wanted to play no games, not tonight, not with Sir Severus. 

Heat curled in his belly as Snape's kisses flowed down his throat. Harry arched to give him access to all that he wanted, moaning when Snape gave him more than he expected, pressing a kiss against the linen of his shirt, leaving a damp circle. 

What he wanted, it seemed, was for Harry to be wearing far less clothing. The top buttons of Harry's waistcoat gave way one by one. Snape's grin was full of wickedness as he walked Harry backward toward the bed. The last button surrendered as Harry's bum wedged against the mattress. 

Snape's hands slid Harry's coat away, tossing it over the foot of the ornate bed frame. Surveying Harry's cravat he fluffed the ends of the snowy white neck cloth.

"What do you call this?" he asked, tugging one end loose.

"It's my own creation," Harry replied with just a touch of pride.

"Well, I can see that," Snape commented as the cravat came loose in his fingers with barely a whisper as it slid off Harry's neck.

"Ala Hedwig," Harry said, feeling oddly more undressed without his cravat than he had without his waistcoat. 

"And Hedwig got this honor because--" The roving fingers had shifted to Harry's linen shirt, coaxing buttons free one by one. 

"An owl I had in school," Harry replied. Snape seemed to relax fractionally. "The style has these little tufts on each side like an owl. I can teach it to you if you like--oh!" 

All thoughts of sharing the complicated secrets of cravat-tying fled Harry's brain as Snape wrung a grasp from him by claiming one now brazenly bare nipple. Harry had not quite realized that his shirt and waistcoat now rested atop his coat over the foot of the bed. 

Belatedly he realized he was free to touch Severus as much as he liked--and Harry liked quite a bit. His palms found purchase on the slender waist, fingers pushing beneath his waistcoat. The linen shirt came free of Severus's breeches just as Harry arched into a truly dazzling kiss in a place he had never imagined kisses could dazzle. 

"That is--oh, monsieur! Your tongue is quite wicked," he said, watching the pink thing flicker over his nipple. Harry was already achingly hard, cock still threatening to bore its way out of his breeches. As he tugged Snape's shirt free, his fingers brushed the front of Snape's own breeches, their legs brushing and shifting together. 

"Ah, everything about you is quite wicked," Harry amended, fingers flying over the buttons of the elegant waistcoat and shirt. Snape allowed this, spreading the dampness of his kiss over Harry's nipple with a thumb until his own chest was bare. 

Harry arched and gifted Snape with a wet swipe of his own tongue against one nipple. He felt the skin wrinkle beguilingly at his touch and immediately sought to replicate the feeling on the other nipple. Traces of the scent of freshly pressed linen clung to Severus's skin, along with the subtler scent of the man himself.

Snape moaned and dug his fingers into the hair at the back of Harry's neck. One hand trailed down his spine, until just the tips of his fingers slid beneath the waistband of Harry's breeches. Harry shivered, arousal and need for release dueling with the unexpectedly heady power of further arousing Snape. 

Harry had little modesty--years of sharing crowded dressing rooms and fast costume changes had rid him of that. Still, he felt unaccountably shy as the last barriers to his modesty were about to be peeled away, not wishing to be found wanting. 

Snape kissed him again, bringing their hips together, tangling his legs, still in breeches, against Harry's. Lightheaded, Harry clutched at the thin but strong arms. His arousal seemed to have developed a script all its own, acting its part, seeking the spotlight. 

"You are not shy," Snape commented, tugging at the buttons on Harry's breeches. "I like that."

"I believe it is my prick that makes a mockery of any modesty I might still possess," Harry replied. He gasped as Snape's knuckles grazed over the bulge of his breeches. The gasp turned to a moan as the breeches slid open, then down.

Then off.

Harry shivered despite the fire as Snape crouched down to peel away the white stockings, breath catching as each silken tie gave away. His prick, ever the lead performer, was auditioning quite blatantly, bobbing near Snape's face as he kneeled down. 

Snape looked up, a lazy smile on his face. Harry pushed aside a strand of the heavy dark hair, come loose from its queue. His breath quickened when Snape's tongue flicked out to each fingertip. 

Then Snape was on his feet and Harry was reaching for his breeches to finish undressing him. Snape pushed away his hands gently. "Up onto the bed with you," he said, a command for all its softness. Hastening to obey, Harry watched as Snape crossed the room to douse the candles on the mantel until the only light came from the fire.

For a moment Harry thought Snape might be shy about revealing his naked manhood. Scrambling back into the lush array of satin and silk, Harry grabbed a tasseled velvet pillow and settled it over his own erection. Snape snuffed the last candle save the hurricane by the bed and turned to face Harry. A breathless moment passed before Snape began to step out of this last barrier to his modesty.

Nature had indeed been generous, bestowing masculine beauty here where she had denied it, in the conventional sense, elsewhere. Snape sketched a bow as if being presented at court and Harry realized his regard had not gone unnoticed. He laughed and made room in the bed as Snape climbed up into it. 

"Don't tell me you've lost your desire for me," Snape said, draping a hand over the concealing pillow over Harry's lap. 

"Oh no, m'sieur," said Harry, shivering as the velvet pile slid over his prick. Snape did not seem displeased by the state of Harry's arousal as he pushed the pillow aside. Now that there was nothing between them but desire, Harry reached for him, wanting to feel as much bare skin against his own as he could. 

Together they fell against the sheets exchanging heated kisses that left few places on either of them unkissed. Harry surged against Snape, craving touch and taste and scent, crying out with need when Snape gave him each one in measure. Still he sought more, craving it as other actors craved applause and the spotlight. 

He was not alone in this quest: each time he pressed for a fuller embrace, Snape matched him, noblesse oblige of the flesh; each time he hungered for more kisses, lips met his own, hot as coals from the fire.

Long fingers clenched into his thigh, leaving trails of teasing pleasure where they touched. "Oh, _cheri_ , I cannot wait for you," came the breathless murmur against Harry's much-kissed mouth. 

"Yes, please," Harry cried out, obeying the tactile command to spread his legs. One finger, bolder than the rest, stroked down the tight sac of his bollocks. Harry moaned and opened wider unbidden. 

"So eager," Snape said, his lips quirking in amusement. 

Harry wiggled, lifting his fingers to brush over Severus's flushed cheek. "You know I have been waiting for you." 

"I will not make you wait any longer." Snape's head turned, his mouth burrowing between Harry's fingers to kiss his palm. Wordlessly he summoned a vial from the nightstand, spreading the golden fluid over his fingertips. Harry could only moan his approval, mewling and coaxing Snape closer. Snape, it seemed, needed no coaxing. Filling the space on the soft bed with touches and kisses and bold invasions inside Harry's body, Harry's flesh surrendered as easily as Harry himself had with a long urgent whisper of demand.

"Waiting longer than I knew," Snape said, dipping his head to swipe the welling fluid, leaving his fingers to work their simple but elegant magic inside Harry. 

"I told you I would," Harry replied, giving over to the fluttering sparks radiating deep inside him. His neck arched, eyes fluttering with the delight of the wondrous pleasure rising in him. He cried out with need, eyes flying open to search Severus's face in questioning wonder.

"I know, _cheri_ ," said Snape, transferring some of the thick fluid to his own prick so that their bodies looked golden and glistening in the soft haze of candlelight. "I am greedy for you affections." He guided Harry's legs up, bidding them hold at waist-level. Harry's breath rasped for a moment when the blunt head began to pierce him. 

In a low voice, Snape crooned a litany of words Harry did not know. He only knew that the first moments of pain were swallowed by a swift kiss, Snape still inside him as his body adjusted to the invasion. Finally Harry nodded, lifting his arms to wrap around Snape's neck and clung as their bodies blended into one.

It was as though lightning had struck near to his skin, prickling with the kind of frantic energy that had only one outlet. The fingers clinging to Snape's neck dug in for the ride that began slowly but quickened when Harry summoned a dreamy smile, lifting his legs higher around Snape's waist. Severus moaned, plunging into him again and again.

Supple fingers slid around his own flesh. Harry arched into the touch, not minding that the strokes were more erratic than his own would have been or that the frenetic lightning seemed to have struck deeply within him. Lightning always presaged a storm, though the storm that raged through his bollocks was welcome, hot and swift as he poured his climax over Snape's hand. 

"S-Severus," he moaned, no longer able to stand on propriety, not after the storm that had shaken him. 

Snape himself seemed incapable of reply, mouth opening wordlessly, drawing his body closer and shaking in a way Harry knew, the palpitations of his body matching Harry's own as he cried out then went still. 

Harry saw no need to release Snape from the grip of either his arms or his legs. Apparently Snape felt the same, swaying over Harry's chest until he was all but crushing him into the mattress. Harry did not object to this, though he did begin to when Snape appeared to be shifting their bodies apart. 

He went no further, however, than Harry's side, groaning heavily as if he had no intention of ever going further than that. Harry had got sweaty, though he had no notion of it until Snape's fingers splayed over his chest and he felt the droplets transferring to his fingers. 

"Harry?" Snape's voice was rougher that it had been earlier this evening, even when he'd been disguised as a servant.

"Yes, monsieur?" He angled his face to peer past the loose curtain of hair, feeling quite free enough to push it back behind one of Severus's ears.

Snape's features were shadowed but this close Harry could discern a frown. "It would please me if you would call me 'Severus' again as you just did," he said, the growl not at all displeasing. 

"Mmm, Severus," Harry repeated, committing the name to his tongue to savor it.

"That is not, however, what I wished to ask," Snape continued, his fingers lazily circling one of Harry's nipples. 

Harry opened one eye, cocking it at Severus before closing it and humming a few notes from the overture of his play. "What is it, Severus?" he asked, wiggling slightly as Snape's head dipped, and a loose strand of the sleek black hair teased his shoulder.

"How many lovers--exactly--have you had before?"

Harry's song broke off as he opened the single eye again. "It is very gauche of you to ask, m'sieur," he said, not sounding quite as disapproving, he feared, as he wished.

Snape cleared his throat. "Yes, I know, love," he said as Harry's eyes closed again. "Nevertheless, I wish to know." 

Eyes still closed, Harry tilted his face toward the sound of Severus's voice. "Including yourself?" 

"Mmmm," Snape said, not bothering to give his reply form. 

"That would be, hmmm." Harry opened his eyes and brought his hand closer to his face, waggling his fingers as if doing complicated sums before holding up a single digit. "One."

"And yet you led me to believe I was the latest in a long line of hopelessly besotted swains because--" prompted Snape.

Harry's smile widened in delight. "Are you besotted?"

Tugging Harry's hand closer, Snape kissed his fingertips. "Answer the question," he directed. 

Harry shrugged expressively. "Virgins are very tiresome," he replied, in a fair approximation of Snape's voice. 

"How do you know I am not besotted enough to have pursued you despite your tiresomely virginal status?" Snape countered. 

Smiling shyly, Harry said, "I think you are quite taken with me, but not besotted." He stroked Snape's cheek and hummed again. "Not yet."  
~~**~~

Harry burrowed into the soft down pillows, inhaling deeply the scent of them. His senses rebelled at scent's favor and strove to rectify the loss. Where was the touch of Severus's heated skin against his own? Where was the soothing sound of breathing, lulling him in his sleep? And more importantly yet, why had his eyes opened on a pillow that bore only the imprint of his lover and not Severus himself?

Struggling from slumber, still wrapped around the pillow, he called out in the shadowed room. The hurricane lamp by the bed had long since been doused and the fire had died to embers. Naked Harry slid out of bed and padded across the room the peer at the mantel clock. Not quite dawn but not far off.

His belly rumbled and he remembered his missed supper. Hopping back upon the bed he slid his hose into place, tying off the tops around his knees before searching amid the tangle of seams for his drawers. Severus's coat lay still draped across the bedstead but his breeches and shirt were gone. Buttoning his own shirt he could not help but run a finger across the elegant waistcoat, remembering how it had felt under his hands as he removed it earlier. 

A shiver of remembrance went through him, tiny sparks from a purely erotic fire igniting places on his person, within and without. Then, as the lingering absence of his host began to seem odd, Harry frowned. Had Severus been disappointed in him? He had not seemed so when, after their initial tumble, he had initiated Harry into the delightfully named soixante-neuf just before they had fallen asleep. 

Leaving his cravat in a shameful untied froth around his neck Harry crossed to the first in a pair of large oak armoires, hoping to find a crisply pressed stock to replace his own. Oddly the first armoire didn't respond to his tug. He realized it was locked. The second one proved more yielding but the immaculately kept drawers revealed no fresh cravats. 

Looking around the room once more, Harry bid it farewell, pushing open the door to the hall in search of Severus. 

All was silent in the corridor. Harry guessed that soon the house elves would be stirring, building fires and pouring water for morning washing and waking up the house with the smells of breakfast. All that stirred now was the flicker of a lantern, just visible in the stairwell. Harry followed the dancing glow, creeping down the stairs like a villain in a bad melodrama. As he descended he heard the low murmur of voices coming from a study to his right. 

The door to the study, just off the entrance hallway, was nearly closed, though enough light slipped through for Harry to find his way down the hall without bumping into any furniture.

Once at the door he hesitated, uncertain whether to intrude until he was positive of the identities of the speakers within. Male and at least two but speaking so softly Harry could not be positive one was Severus. He strained to hear, all but leaning on the shadowed door. He thought perhaps one of the voices sounded closer so he shifted so that his ear was nearly flat against the wood. Suddenly, in the way of all bad melodramas, the door was flung open, sending him wind-milling off balance. 

"Harry!"

"Harry? Not--is that really--?" came another voice, not as familiar as the first.

Harry scarcely had time to register the second voice as Severus pulled him into the room. "What are you doing out of bed?" demanded Severus.

"I--" he began, then flushed with embarrassment as he realized there was indeed another man in the room and Severus's question made it seem as if they'd been--which of course they had been--but Harry didn't want to make it _seem_ as if they had. He shook his head in confusion. The other man was peering at him curiously now though he had not spoken again.

Severus seemed to sense his dilemma. "It's all right, Harry. Lupin knows what I am." He sent a bemused smirk toward the man called Lupin and said, "Nothing you say will shock him."

The man, Lupin, took a step closer and smiled at Harry. He had light brown hair and the appearance of a gentleman, though perhaps not so grand a one as Severus. "It really is him?" he asked, looking back at Sir Severus.

"Can you doubt it? He is the very spirit and image of his father." Severus replied. He turned to Harry. "Harry, this is Remus Lupin, my steward. He went to school with your parents."

Harry sketched his best bow, lamenting his lack of a fine cravat. "A pleasure to meet you monsieur," he said formally. "If you knew my parents, you must know my godfather, Sirius, as well."

Laughter transformed the careworn lines on the man's face. "Indeed I do, son, though I've not laid eyes on him for many years."

"Or anything else, I'll wager," murmured Severus, almost to himself. Lupin did not seem to take offense. 

"I'll wager he isn't very happy with either of you," Lupin said in his pleasantly accented English. He was dressed, compared to Severus, very plainly, in sturdy brown trousers and a dark coat. His cravat was a knot so simple it would have been followed by gasps of horror at the Paris opera house.

"Especially if I don't get Harry back before dawn," Severus said. He was in shirtsleeves alone. Harry had cause to remember the removal of that shirt not so many hours earlier and found his cheeks warming again.

He laid one hand on Severus's sleeve. "I can see myself home." Lupin and Severus were obviously old friends, or old somethings, and Harry wasn't sure how possessive he could be with his new-found passion. 

Severus was already looking uncertain. "I'll have the carriage brought round," he said, clearly reluctant to dispatch his duty. Harry noted the stack of documents upon the desk and the presence of several quills and ink pots upon the desk as if the two men had been outlining something. 

Harry waved him off with a cheeriness he did not feel. This was not how he'd imagined the rest of the evening. "I have been roaming the streets of Paris since I was a boy," he tossed off lightly. Lupin had stepped back to the desk, examining a map that had been weighted down at the corners by two snuffboxes and a pen stand, clearly giving them a moment of privacy.

At least Severus looked like he wanted to kiss him. Harry slid his fingers lightly down the loose sleeve, not daring more even with Lupin's attention diverted. "You owe me a supper, monsieur," he teased.

"I'd much rather have it be breakfast, _cheri_ ," replied Severus, his voice pitched for Harry's ears alone. 

~~**~~

None save the hardiest--and the drunkest--revelers roamed the streets at the hour before dawn. Harry was by no means alone however. He nodded his hat to merchants trundling carts to market, their donkeys just as sleepy as their masters. There were dustmen and sewermen and probably not a few rag and bone pickers haunting the twisting mews between Severus's house and the Rue d'Richelieu In the happy daze that enveloped Harry, every person he passed seemed a little cheerier, a little cleaner, a little less sorry to be up at that hour.

He allowed only the briefest flare of jealousy that M. Lupin was probably even now in discussion with Severus over whatever urgent errand had brought him to Paris. 

But truly he was too happy to be jealous. Lupin had not looked like a man distressed to see a comely younger man bidding his lover farewell. Severus had not minded being Harry's first lover, had perhaps even been a little pleased that he was not sharing favors with other gentlemen. 

And Harry would have Severus--or would be had again--tonight.

His grin turned into a yawn as he turned into the familiar stones of the Rue d'Richelieu. The lamplighters had come and doused the streetlights at the first blush of dawn over the smoky rooftops. The sound of his own footsteps against the cobbles was the only sound in the empty street.

The only sound, that is, except for the quiet jingle of tack. Harry looked up from his rather erotic reverie, just noticing a closed carriage, looking very out of place on the bourgeois avenue. 

Before he had time to do more than wonder at the oddness, a streak of spell light split the morning gloom, striking Harry. A burst of pain erupted through him, pain unlike any he had ever known existed. He crumpled onto the street before he could even draw his wand.

Pain lanced through him again, sharp and hot. His fingers scrabbled against the paving stones as another curse pierced him. There was so much agony that his eyes closed against the spell light, too bright for his protesting brain to sort out. He cried out, for the heat and pain seemed to wrench inside him, carried through his body on traitorous nerve endings that just hours before had brought him the greatest pleasure he had ever known, now bringing the most profound pain. 

This time he heard a voice, close, and the short bark of the curse as it struck him again. Harry's back arched, legs working helplessly before he collapsed into a heap on the curb and knew no more.

~~**~~

"--genuinely indisposed--Damn it, Snape!"

Harry's eyes fluttered open reluctantly and it took an immeasurable effort to keep them open. His judgment was not so impaired as to realize he was no longer outside but tucked up into his own bed. He had only dim memories of the hue and cry in the street and of gentle hands picking him up. The bedroom door swung open wildly just as he managed to swing his head toward the sound of raised voices in the hallway.

Severus stood outlined in the door, his face full of outrage. 

And just as outraged, Sirius followed hard on his heels. "Leave him alone, you greasy--"

"Severus!" Harry cried, though his voice was rusty and hoarse and he wasn't certain anyone had heard him.

"Harry," replied Severus, though he seemed to pale at the sight of Harry tucked up beneath the pile of quilts. Harry slid one hand from beneath the counterpane and instantly Severus was at his side, grasping it. "What happened?"

"I was about to ask you, Snape," Sirius growled. He'd followed Severus into the room, hovering at the edge of Harry's bed.

Harry was trying to shake his head but the motion made him groan. "He didn't--" he tried, voice gaining strength with use. 

"You can't think I had anything--" Severus growled, his touch contrary to the harsh tone as he bent to stroke the hair away from Harry's forehead. Harry groaned--happily this time--and let his eyes drift closed again.

"See, you're disturbing him. I told you, he's genuinely indisposed," Sirius said. Harry felt Severus shift beside him, just as lips touched his forehead. Harry opened his eyes and smiled in appreciation.

"Has he told you what happened? Who did this?" Snape demanded.

Sirius shook his head with reluctance. "I've had a healer to see him and he said to let him wake naturally. Said it looked like a curse--multiple Cruciatus most likely." At this, a spell Harry was unfamiliar with, Severus squeezed his fingers tightly and muttered an oath. 

"I've been frantic, _cheri_ ," Severus said, turning concerned eyes on Harry. "When you weren't at the theater last night--" Severus's voice broke. Even Sirius looked startled.

At this, Harry blinked. He'd missed a performance?

Sirius looked torn between further berating Snape and comforting Harry. "I found him on the sidewalk yesterday morning," Sirius explained. "I'd fallen asleep in my study--" His cheeks pinked faintly and Harry suspected he'd been waiting up for him to return from Severus's. 

"Who did this to you?" demanded Severus again. Harry looked up at both men, each eager to learn the name of Harry's attacker. 

As much as he hated to disappoint them he had to admit, "I never saw who it was." Harry could only think of one person who might wish him in pain and he didn't want to cast aspersions on friends of Severus's or a potential patron of Sirius's theater. 

Sirius's eyes narrowed again. "You'd better start convincing me it wasn't you, Snape."

Severus shot to his feet, looking murderous. "I swear I never--"

"Your oaths aren't enough, Snape," said Sirius, his voice lowering dangerously. "And no bloody title will save you here. They don't like aristos, here, whether they're English or French."

"I have a house full of witnesses that will swear I never left the house after Harry left it," rebutted Snape, his own voice cold.

"You can pay servants to say whatever you like," Sirius countered, waving one hand dismissively.

"Remus Lupin was with me nearly two hours after dawn yesterday," Severus said, fingers clenching and unclenching as if about to reach for his wand.

"Remus is in Paris?" Sirius said, and his voice had gone strange. 

Severus lifted his chin defiantly. "He sailed back to England last night."

Even dazed Harry saw Sirius's hand flash and his wand suddenly was in it. Severus's hand, still clasped in Harry's, jerked as if it ached to do the same. 

"Sirius, no," Harry moaned, struggling to sit up, weighted down more by the mound of blankets than his own weakness. 

"You said you didn't see who it was," replied Sirius, the tip of the wand dangerously close to Severus's chin.

"I saw the carriage. It wasn't his. Whoever it was came in a closed curricle." He felt Severus's fingers jerk again but then they relaxed. Sirius had lowered his wand. 

"That doesn't prove anything," Sirius said, his eyes narrowing as they skirted over Severus's face. Harry could tell by the way Severus's fingers clenched tightly that he was controlling himself by the barest of threads.

"If he'd wanted to hurt me or kill me, he could have just followed me from his house and done it in some alley where you'd never find me. Not right in front of my own house. Honestly! Whoever it was lay in wait here because they didn't know I was at Severus's last night." He gave Severus's fingers a reassuring squeeze. All he wanted to do was slump back under the blankets and maybe sleep for a few more days, or better still, tug Severus under with him and curl up in his arms. 

Sirius was calling down the stairs for food to be brought up, and strong hot tea. Once the news spread that Harry was awake, Gargery insisted on bringing the tray up himself. Sirius managed to hold off questioning him further until Harry had eaten an entire bowl of cook's heartiest beef stew before hearing what Harry could remember. 

Admittedly the meal did make Harry feel better. Severus had only reluctantly released his hand to allow Harry to eat but remained by his bedside. Now that Harry was more fully awake he noticed that Sirius had not shaved and that there were puffy circles under his eyes. 

Harry did his best to relate as much as he could remember about the attack. When he was done Severus and Sirius exchanged a look Harry could not interpret.

"He shouldn't stay in Paris," Severus said slowly.

"What?" asked Harry, blinking at the both of them.

"I agree," said Sirius, pacing several times back and forth in front of the bedroom door. 

"You do?" Harry said, feeling very thick. 

Sirius brightened--and for such a brilliant actor, he was quite unconvincing. "You should get some rest," he said solicitously giving what could only be described as a _significant_ look at Severus.

"Oh no," Harry said, crossing both arms over his chest in protest. "You aren't going to shunt me off like a child while you decide what's to be done with me." 

Sirius tried to look consoling but it was Severus who spoke. "Harry's right. He's been of age for several years now."

Now Sirius looked like he wanted to reach for his wand again and was holding on by the slimmest of measures.

"I think he should come back with me to England," said Severus. Both Harry's and Sirius's mouths dropped open.

"To England--" Sirius said.

"With you--" said Harry.

Harry smiled.

Sirius did not.

"I accept," Harry said.

"I disagree," said Sirius. 

"I thought you might," Severus said, though Harry wasn't certain if he was addressing one or both of them.

"You've admitted you want me out of Paris," protested Harry to his godfather, who had gone back to glowering.

"Not with him," Sirius replied. Yes, definitely glowering.

Very slowly Severus rose to his feet and faced Sirius. "Is your objection merely to me or what has transpired between Harry and myself?"

Harry felt his cheeks grow warm at the boldness but lifted his chin when Sirius's piercing gaze turned toward him. Before he could reply however, Severus went on.

"Surely you know that there is no power on earth that could give me cause to harm Lily's son."

For a long moment no one spoke. Then Sirius nodded, looking very grave, as if some fundamental truth had passed between them. Harry slumped back against the headboard, not certain if he was relieved or tired, only that he was glad the two people he cared most about were not going to come to blows, or call each other out on the field of honor. At least not right now, he amended groggily as his energy drained away and he slipped back into slumber.

He awoke to the low murmur of voices but when his eyelids fluttered open he realized he was alone in his bedroom. The door was open and the voices came drifting in from the hallway. Harry tried moving and realized he felt much better than the last time he'd woken up. 

Then the memories of that pushed him further toward wakefulness. Was he really going to England with Severus?

The door swung open and Sirius entered. "How are you feeling?" he asked, dropping into the chair by the bed. 

Harry stretched, taking stock. "Better," he replied as Sirius grinned and fished in his waistcoat pocket. He pulled out a stoppered vial, no longer than his smallest finger, and handed it over.

"Drink this," he instructed. Harry pulled out the cork and sniffed it. "You've already had two of them while you slept." Harry tipped the vial into his mouth. "I suppose Snape knows a thing or two about potions."

The liquid spread warmly in his belly, or perhaps it was the mention of Severus's name that made him tingle. "Am I really going to England?" he asked, still uncertain it had not all been an especially happy dream.

Sirius's expression darkened. "Much as I hate to admit Severus Snape is right about anything, I'd rather see you sail away with him than lying crumpled on the pavement ever again."

He shuddered and visibly came back to himself. "You know I have a brother, Regulus, in London. Now, if you need help--"

"I thought you'd been disowned," Harry replied, curiously. Sirius had never explained exactly why he'd been disowned.

Sirius cleared his throat roughly. "Of course I have. Regulus got himself married and sired a passel of dutiful Blacks to carry on the family name. Reg has it all but he's kept in touch over the years." He fished in his pocket and pulled out and handed him a folded piece of parchment. "He won't turn you away if you need help." 

Harry nodded and laid it on the nightstand beside his spectacles. Sirius followed the parchment with a slim gold key, explaining about wizarding banks and the money his parents had left him. He had to explain about the goblins who ran it since all the goblins had fled France ages ago when they'd been heralded as a local delicacy. England also had something called butter beer, which sounded quite exotic to Harry who had only ever had wine to drink.

"Gargery has packed your trunk and Snape assures me he has a whole flock of owls--" The gruff voice broke slightly and Harry reached out and placed his hand over Sirius's larger one. Sirius squeezed his fingers. "If he does anything to you, anything at all--"

"I trust him, Sirius, with my life," replied Harry.

"And I trust you," Sirius continued, "but it may not be your life in jeopardy." Before Harry could reply, Sirius stretched on the stool. "You've an uncommon sense about you." 

"Thanks to you," Harry said, flinging back the covers and sliding his legs over the edge of the bed. He felt strong enough to run to London himself. 

Luckily no such effort was required. Severus's coach came for him as planned the next day. He'd felt well enough to dress and take supper downstairs and report the incident to the local wizard liaison who assured him everything would be done to find the culprit. Harry put no faith in the assurance--the Revolutionary Committee was too busy chopping off heads to prosecute actual crimes these days. When the coach arrived, accompanied by several burly footmen, the groom swung down from the post seat to pull the door open and fold out the step. Harry was disappointed, however, to realize that the coach was empty. "Where is Sir Severus?" he asked the groom.

The be-wigged groom cleared his throat. "The master will meet you aboard his yacht, the Dreamless Sleep, sir." The door swung shut and the groom climbed back up with the driver and they were off.

Harry watched at the window eagerly until they got to the city gates. Sirius had made sure he had his papers, which were duly presented for inspection. Another guard, sporting a Revolutionary rosette, inspected the bags piled on the top of the carriage.

The guard walked around the carriage, still holding Harry's papers. "What have we here?" he asked, pressing the tip of his bayonet into an oak barrel. 

"Wine, sir, bound for Sir Severus's estate in England," replied the groom, sounding very bored.

The guard's contempt was plainly writ upon his face. "The English grow their grapes as pale and weak as their women," he said, waving the barrels back onto the cart. Two liveried footmen hastened to obey, lashing the barrels back in place before the carriage got underway.

Once outside the city, Harry succumbed to the excitement of the previous few days and drowsed on his bench, bunching the lap robe up for a pillow against the jostling carriage. His dozing dreams flittered full of daring rescues and breathless escapes, galloping hoof beats blending in with the more measured pace of the coach. Harry's eyelids fluttered open. It did sound like they were galloping. He frowned and sat up. The carriage was still swaying along at a sedate pace. 

He peered outside the carriage window. One of the footmen, now astride a horse, was galloping away, off the well-rutted path until Harry lost sight of him in the trees. 

Later when the carriage pulled level with the more traveled road to the port of Calais, he blinked sleepily, uncertain whether the galloping footman had been part of his dreams. All dreams were forgotten as the carriage pulled into the city. Harry plastered himself close to the window as the vista broadened and salt air tinged the breeze. He had rarely been out of Paris before and never to such an exotic place as Calais.

The wharfs were teeming with more ships than Harry had ever seen--tall masted frigates down to sturdy fishing boats. Flags of all countries decorated the tops of the swaying masts, and languages Harry could not name flew from wharf to wharf on the tongues of sailors of all descriptions. Harry imagined himself taking on the role of a sailor in a play, wondering if he would look like one the group of pale, fair-haired men with arms as big around as one of Harry's legs who hauled ropes beside a rigged ship, or like the line of shorter, swarthier men, each with a straight line of corded black hair down their back, raising a layered sail on their ship. He saw no hooks but he did spot a few peg legs and once he thought he caught sight of a parrot, fluttering from one mast to another. 

The carriage made its way toward the quays, knocking against costermongers and wagons, drays and donkeys, making its way down the bustling wharfs. He saw at once that the carriage was picking its way toward a slim schooner flying the Union Jack. Harry's heart fluttered like the pennant when he spotted Severus standing near the bow, too anxious to note that a single footman began hoisting off his trunks as he bounded up the gangplank. 

"Feeling better?" Sir Severus said as Harry ducked under the rigging and met him near the bow with a broad grin. 

"Much improved," Harry replied, "thanks to you."

"A simple restorative," said Severus, folding the heavy map in his gloved hand and handing it off to the captain. 

"I am in your debt, sir," Harry said, mindful of the politely hovering captain. 

For a moment he thought Severus would wave the debt away with another of his negligent gestures. Instead he said, "You can repay it by living a very long time."

Harry shivered at the low intensity of his voice, as if a goose had walked over his grave. Then he turned to make light of his reaction. "I intend to, m'sieur. It is only on stage that I meet my early demise." 

Soon they were both caught up in the flurry of activity as the ship cast off. Severus guided them up to the prow and stood beside him as the sails filled and the sleek schooner slipped away from the teeming docks of Calais and into the channel. Harry smiled up at Severus as the wind whipped his hair behind him.

"You'll enjoy England, I think," Severus said, one hand on the rail. The strong breezes that filled the sails threatened to steal the words away but Harry heard him because they were standing quite close--perhaps closer that propriety would strictly dictate. 

Harry cast his eyes towards his new home somewhere across the channel. "I shall like England with you in it," he said. He had never been curious about the land of his parents' birth, for he had never known them, save in the stories Sirius had told about their school days. He looked back to see that Severus looked pensive. 

"Harry, you know I am back and forth between London and Paris quite a bit," he said, obviously choosing his words with care. 

Harry had of course known this as an obscure point about Severus, though until this moment, had never realized the import of being alone in a strange country. Traveling back and forth with him would defeat the purpose of leaving home for his own safety. 

He tried to make light of it, lifting one shoulder negligently. "As long as you are not having assignations with anyone else," he said, though he realized too he had no claim on Severus's affections in that direction either.

Severus's lazy gaze dropped to Harry's mouth and Harry knew instantly that Severus wanted to kiss him--perhaps even as much as Harry wanted to be kissed. Instead he said, "With you here, there isn't quite anyone left in Paris worth the bother."

Harry glanced to either side, as if checking to make sure they were alone before imparting a great secret. "You could take me to your cabin, monsieur, and convince me."

The fine dark brows shot up. "On a yacht?" Then his expressive features turned crafty. "I suppose, as an invalid, you should get your rest on the voyage."

Harry knew a cue when he heard one. He staggered a bit and flung one arm out blindly. Severus reached out to steady him, a solicitous look on his face. His voice was noticeably louder when he said, "Are you quite all right?"

Harry laid the back of his hand against his brow. "I think it would do me good to rest a while, monsieur," he replied, over-loudly, in case the prevailing winds whipped his words away from the crew's ears. 

"Of course, of course," said Severus, offering his arm politely. 

Harry's gratitude was not feigned when he took it. "Very kind of you," he replied as they passed the captain, who, to judge by his smirk, was not a fan of theater.

"No trouble at all," Sir Severus said, pushing open the door to the deck below. There were several narrow stairs so Severus went down first. Harry slid his hand along the teak paneling and followed, all pretense of infirmity fallen away.

"We did not fool anyone, I think," observed Harry just before Severus pushed him against the wall for a hard kiss. 

"The proprieties must be observed," Severus replied, though it seemed he was less concerned with propriety just now, as he was with catching his breath for the next kiss.

There was only a short passage to the cabin but Harry was kissed down what felt like every inch of it. Together they pushed open the teak door, arms locked around each other, Severus's hand fumbling blindly for the doorknob. Harry had a glimpse of the well-appointed cabin before he spotted the only object in it that held any interest for him--the bed. 

"I think my proprieties need to be observed right now," he panted, hoisting himself onto the lush array of pillows. 

Harry's frothy Hedwig cravat gave way under Severus's determined tugging. "I daresay you could do with a bit of polishing before your entrance into Society," said Severus. 

He had not forgotten the joy of pushing his fingers through Severus's long hair but it was a pleasure to renew that joy as he tugged it loose from its queue . The forced inactivity of his confinement had made him restless and he could think of no better outlet for his energy than to learn the ways of pleasing his lover.

"I am very sure that parts of you could do with a little polishing yourself," said Harry, pushing on one still waist-coated shoulder. One brow quirked in surprise and a smirk flirted around the equally fine mouth, but Severus acquiesced and allowed Harry change places with him and guide him back into the pillows. 

There were rather well-tailored obstacles to his goal but Harry was equally good at costume changes under adverse conditions. He had both frockcoats awaiting the attention of the valet and was opening buttons with the dedication he had heretofore devoted to learning his lines. Severus, a true gentleman, would allow no one to touch his cravat, but himself. 

Harry had no time to study the intricacy of the knot as he transferred his attentions to the buff trousers covering Severus's long legs. Boots, then trousers came away before Severus was in a suitable state for polishing. 

“ _Magnifique_ ," Harry murmured as he slid the hot, silky flesh of Severus's cock across his cheek. He rubbed his fingertip across the damp trail it left, sucking the salty tip into his mouth with relish.

"I see you are much recovered," groaned Severus from amid the pile of velvet pillows. There was satisfaction in his gaze and perhaps something more basic--a hunger that Harry felt certain clawed at himself as well.

"I am young and recover quickly," said Harry impishly. Snape's smile appeared quite agreeable to this. His prick seemed equally agreeable. The flesh was just as silken in Harry's mouth, still delightfully hard, yet yielding to Harry's still inexpert tongue. He traced around the head with his tongue, then back up to savor the renewed burst of dew leaking from the slit. 

A guttural moan from the depths of the pillows alerted Harry that the previous single lesson in this art had not gone amiss. He was determined to improve on that lesson even though his throat gagged quite against his will as he lowered down too quickly.

"Slow down, _cheri_ ," coaxed Severus, "No pleasure is made more agreeable by rushing through it."

Harry imagined himself as a character in a particularly bawdy play--the sort Sirius had never let him read. The script called for him to be worldly and well-versed in the arts of pleasure. It was a technique he had employed before with mixed results. Severus, of course, had seen through it at once.

But it did allow Harry to slow his strokes, to focus on how the soft bollocks shifted and warmed in his hand when he cupped them against his palm. His foray into fantasy also seemed to attune his senses to Severus's reactions: the shifting legs, the increasingly restless moans, the final and the near-desperate gasp just before he flooded Harry's mouth with bitter seed.

Harry was not averse to the flavor, though it took more than one swallow to make sure he had got it all. He was not disappointed that the granting of such pleasure had no effect on his own greedy prick, though he had not quite got the knack of stroking himself while immersed in doing it.

Next time, he promised himself, looking up from his slumping prize.

Severus, in repletion, the color high on his cheeks, hair tangled from his thrashing, was truly worth his prick's current discomfort, though it twitched to remind him that Dover was not yet in sight. 

"I see you are a quick study," said Severus, still panting, unclenching his fingers from Harry's hair. 

"You are a very inspiring teacher," Harry said, hoping he was not misreading the predatory glint in Severus's eyes as he peeled away from the pillows. A shiver went through him as he sprawled back on the bed, not with the intention of escaping, but of presenting a more inviting prey. 

"You do not object to further lessons?" Severus growled, insinuating himself between Harry's legs and bending his head to the object of Harry's discomfort.

"No--oh no…no objection at all," Harry moaned, lost the moment Severus's lips touched his prick.

They made landing at Dover amid a flurry of sailor's calls. Harry stayed close to Sir Severus and still nearly got swept off the gangplank by a fast moving tangle of ropes. He wanted to take Severus's hand but knew that such things were frowned upon even more than in France.

The cacophony of English and other more foreign voices was also quite confusing, sending pointed reminders with each shout that Harry was no longer in the land he had always considered home. The ships were moored so close together that sailors could call ship to ship, sharing news and jokes. 

Once on the wharf Harry was propositioned by prostitutes of both sexes. He waved them away easily, being used to the fleet that congregated around the theaters of Paris. Even though he did not understand every offer called out to him, he simply shrugged and pointed at Severus. More than one disappointed gaze followed them to the waiting carriage.

A footman sprang down to open the carriage door for them. Severus gestured Harry in first. "Aren't we going to wait until the wine is loaded?" Harry asked, spotting their trunks already atop the carriage.

Oddly enough, for a moment Severus looked blank. "Wine? Oh…the wine. It's being loaded onto a wagon with other things bound for the manor."

With a shrug, Harry climbed in, sliding over to make room for Severus, only to be disappointed when he took the opposite seat. "How do you like England so far?" Severus asked, taking a pinch of snuff.

Harry peered out the small carriage window. "It's very loud," he admitted, as Severus brushed the snuff from his fingertips. The carriage had not moved at all. Harry was beginning to wonder if they were waiting for something or someone else to arrive.

"It will be quieter in the country," Severus said, sliding over on the padded bench to make room and patting the space in invitation. "I'm sorry you won't be seeing very much of the countryside just now."

Harry scrambled over. "I will not?" he said, trying to remember to speak English.

Severus tucked his arm firmly into his own. "We're in England now. There's no reason we can't Apparate." Something jerked Harry behind the navel.

“ _Mon Dieu!_ " Harry gasped.

The oath was swallowed up by the blur of Side-Along Apparition. He clung to Severus's well-tailored sleeve until his feet once again found purchase. All at once there was a solid drive beneath his shoes. He stumbled slightly against the reassuring weight of Severus, opening his eyes. They were standing on a pebbled drive in front of the great bulk of a house.

"Welcome home," Severus said as Harry's astonished gaze traveled up the sandy old stone, over gables and rows of mullioned windows. There were at least two storeys, not including, Harry supposed, the upper servants' rooms and the lower kitchens and storerooms. At either end were two circular towers that probably had lovely views of the grounds. 

In front of them stood a deeply set arched doorway, behind which bustled an array of halls and additions, chimneys arrayed along the center. The walls of the court enclosed a modest garden with topiaries lining the symmetrical criss-cross paths. 

"No moat?" Harry asked, as Severus stood back and let him look his fill. The house had the air of one that had been added to over the years, and not always by architects who understood Muggle proprieties.

"I suppose we could put one in," Severus said, gesturing with his quizzing glass.   
“We're close to the river so it wouldn't be a problem to fill." Harry laughed. "There is a maze, if that's any consolation."

Harry could barely believe he was going to live here. He had known Severus was quite wealthy but this was the finest house he had ever seen. Of course he had never been allowed near the houses of the aristocracy in France to enable a comparison but he couldn't imagine anything grander than this. 

"Plenty of privacy for broom riding," Severus pointed out as they walked through the stone arch of the doorway. The door itself was arched as well, old oak bound with dark iron. "Warded of course." He had his wand out to tap the door. Before he could, however, the door swung open as if by itself. Then Harry looked down and saw a house elf with large bat-like ears and huge eyes. 

"Ah, Harry, this is Blakeney, the butler," Severus said, by way of introduction.

Blakeney, the house-elf bowed and stepped aside to admit them. 

"Blakeney, this is Harry Potter, the young man I wrote you about," Severus went on. "He'll be staying with us for the foreseeable future." 

The elf inclined his head with great dignity. "How do you do?" he said, in a high squeaky voice. 

"How do you do?" replied Harry in his inexpert English. 

"Lumbago is acting up a bit, sir," said the elf, in a stiffly formal tone. 

"That's enough, Blakeney," Severus cut in sternly and the elf bowed again. "Blakeney came with the house," he explained, doffing his gloves, hat and coat. Harry followed suit, taking in the grand entranceway. Unlike Severus's townhouse in Paris there were no paintings in the hall or the wide staircase that led to the upper floors. Instead the walls were festooned with what looked like a very fine weapons collection. There were both wizard and Muggle swords and armor, goblin-made and human forged. Lining the upper walls across the top of the entryway were a row of shields with heraldic designs, also a mixture of wizarding and purely Muggle. Most looked as if they'd been used in battle at least once, one was even split down the middle and left slightly gaping on its display.

Severus, noticing his regard, said, "Most of these came with the house as well, though I've discovered an interest in them myself."

"No portraits of past Snapes?" Harry asked, adding his coat on top of Severus's in the elf's outstretched arms, piled so high that he could no longer see Blakeney's long pointed nose. 

"There are plenty of those," Severus admitted with a slight shudder. "Nosey gossips, the lot of them. Re-hung them in the parlors."

Harry laughed as Blakeney tottered off, his crisp tea towel hanging past his knees. 

"Come, let me show you the house," Severus bade and they spent a cheerful afternoon prowling through the aforementioned parlors, the empty ballroom, the dining hall and even the kitchens. The servants were divided between house-elves and humans, humans being mostly footmen, whose main requirement seemed to be that they were tall and burly, and grooms. The kitchen was full of spotlessly tea towel-clad house elves, headed up by the impressive Blakeney, who had deposited their coats and rejoined the staff by the time Harry and Severus arrived in the kitchens. Ffolkes, Severus's valet was at that moment below stairs, and he bobbed excitedly to see Harry again. 

Harry's favorite room had been Severus's study: lined with books; with two fireplaces, one at either end, a huge, sturdy desk and a large portrait of Severus himself. The painted figure was dozing, but resembled Severus enough now that Harry guessed it had been painted only a few years earlier.

"I had it done right after I inherited the title," Severus explained, coming up behind Harry. The portrait Severus's arms were folded across its chest, face dropping in slumber, but Harry liked it all the same. 

Outside, the cart and carriage arrived with a great clatter and Harry and Severus moved to the wide, sunny window to observe the arrival. More burly footmen scrambled to help with the trunks and casks of wine, as the groom steadied the horses. Harry's Gallic soul was impressed that the footmen were, if anything, more careful with the casks than they were with the trunks. 

They watched until the carriage was led away, sitting on the edge of the open window. "Blakeney and Ffolkes will have your trunks upstairs by now. Come, I'll show you to your room."

"My room?" questioned Harry, then was instantly embarrassed by his presumption. 

Severus, who had slid off the sill, stopped and turned. Harry attempted a carefree expression as if being shunted to a guest room had been his deepest wish. Severus sat back on the sill, regarding Harry gravely. "You are a guest in my house, no matter what else you are to me," he explained. "Having your own room gives you a choice where to sleep, not an obligation."

Harry was happy to follow Severus then as they went upstairs, turning right at the top and along a wide hall. Suits of armor stood at each end of the corridor, and several landscapes and a framed collection of wands lined the walls, which were only broken by two doors. 

Both doors had been left ajar and Severus led them into the first one, a large airy room, very fashionably appointed. Again there were no portraits, just a rather lush still-life of fruit. Harry's trunks were piled up at the foot of a very high, canopied bed. "The elves will unpack for you if you like," Severus explained, "but I like to do it myself, so the decision is, of course, up to you."

"No, I'll do it," said Harry, still admiring the room, which was nearly the size of the entire downstairs of the house he had lived in in Paris. On the wall opposite the armoire was another door, also slightly ajar. Harry approached it with curiosity, looking back at Severus, who nodded for him to continue. 

Beyond was another bedroom, matching Harry's own. Another set of trunks, that Harry had most recently seen atop the carriage beside his, lay at the foot of the bed. The fireplaces ran along the same wall, and like Severus's room in Paris, there were two large heavy armoires adjacent to the bed. The rooms were so similar in design and décor that Harry guessed, "For the master and the mistress?" 

Severus's smirk was all he needed to confirm his guess. "Or the master and his mister. The guest rooms are along the east hall. I suppose the past masters and mistresses valued their privacy." Harry felt a blossom of warmth spread through his limbs. As much as he appreciated the choice of beds, he knew which one he wished for tonight. 

Harry did not sleep in the canopied bed in his own room that night, nor any of the others that followed. Not even when Severus announced, after several blissfully debauched weeks, that he had put things off too long and he must sail to France. Harry did not pout about it, for he had been warned such a thing would happen and he did not want Severus's last sight of him as he Apparated to the docks, to be sulky and unhappy. He even tried not to begrudge the extra time it would take to sail back and forth, since the French restrictions against its own wizards inconvenienced visiting wizards as well.

He did not even consider sleeping in his own bed the first night Severus was away. For though he appreciated having a place of his own to dress and bathe--on those occasions when he did not bathe with Severus--he much preferred the room next door for nearly everything else. 

Severus's bed was unfashionably not canopied. Instead the ceiling over it had been charmed to show the sky outside. Harry had heard of such things--the great wizard school where his parents had gone had been charmed that way. Clutching Severus's pillow in his arms, he lay awake watching the stars forming their star charts overhead until he fell asleep.

There was plenty to do to keep himself occupied. The house had a lavish library, scrupulously attended by ruffled tea-toweled maids, supervised by Marguerite, the housekeeper, who seemed to be Blakeney's wife, though Harry had not known that house-elves married, though he supposed they must, considering all the little house-elf tots he'd seen in the kitchens. Harry had learned only to inquire about Blakeney's health once or twice a day lest he be treated to a host of twinges and aches that plagued the aged elf. Dewhurst, lately promoted from under-butler to Harry's manservant, took great delight in teaching him various English methods of tying fashionable cravats. 

When Harry's restless body demanded exercise, there was a stable and acres of park to explore on horseback, or by foot. Harry had only the most basic riding skills so he stuck mostly to long walks by the river. There was even, as Severus had promised, a hedge maze, though Harry had yet to venture into its murky depths, preferring more vigorous forms of exercise when Severus was at home. 

There were also letters to write, for Sirius's first letter had come the second day after Harry's arrival and he'd written faithfully ever since. There had been a short, polite letter from Sirius's brother, Regulus, inviting him for a visit should he chance to find himself in London. The London season had not yet begun, of course, though Severus had explained that he owned a townhouse in a fashionable part of London should they decide to brave the social whirl when it really began. 

On the fourth day there were two letters on the salver that Blakeney presented every morning over breakfast. One, on heavy parchment, bore Severus's Paris address. The second had no return address but was sealed with an embossed wafer. Curious, Harry opened it first and scanned the contents. Phrases rose up from the expensive parchment like 'come to your senses' and 'mutual interests'. Huffing in indignation Harry rose and tossed it on the fire. Amazed at Draco's--for such had the missive been from--cheek, Harry returned to his seat and the second, more welcome letter.

Though he made no mention of his business in Paris, Severus's letter was full of things Harry wanted to know: _Your godfather is well. He didn't actually toss me out on my arse when I called, though I'm sure he wrote to you as soon as I departed._

Harry had, of course, heard from Sirius directly about their brief visit. To hear him tell it, he had been the soul of genteel politeness when Severus had called. 

It was the best Harry had felt since Severus had left for Paris. Folding the letter and tucking it by his plate, he perused the _Daily Prophet_ while breaking his fast. The Duc d'laCour and all three of his children had vanished from their cell after receiving a priest for their last confessions before the tumbrel had arrived. The only sign had been a calling card with the humble asphodel flower stamped upon it pinned to the door of the empty cell.

French authorities had, according to the reports, been outraged. The _Prophet_ ascribed the rescue to the Black Asphodel and mentioned that bets were now being taken in certain gentlemen's clubs as to how soon M. le Duc and his children would join the other émigrés in British society. 

It was Harry's habit to take exercise after breakfast. After thanking Blakeney, he decided on a walk down by the riverfront. He took Severus's letter and re-read it several times on the mossy bank. Harry sat there for some time staring out at the softly rippling waters, until it was almost time for lunch. He had never thought much about those who had been arrested and beheaded, save those names he'd known in the wizarding community. The Fortescues had been the only family he'd known personally and they had been rescued by the Black Asphodel. Harry had been outraged by the violence but his own life had been full of rehearsals and admirers and he had never spoken out about the events swirling around him. 

He rose and made his way slowly to his room to tuck the letter away in his cupboard. He had just closed the doors when suddenly he heard the rattle of a coach outside. Surely it couldn't be -- Harry ran to his bedroom window just in time to see the Snape carriage clatter into view on the cobblestone driveway. 

Pressing his nose against the window, Harry craned to see the carriage's occupant. Surely Severus would have just Apparated as they had done a few weeks before, he reasoned. The heavy old glass distorted the outline of the groom who jumped down to open the carriage door.

Harry's heart leaped in his chest when Severus climbed out of the carriage. As Harry watched, Severus reached back inside. At first Harry wondered whether he had been accompanied by another passenger, perhaps one who could not Apparate. Instead Severus pulled out a large birdcage, setting it down on the drive. When he opened the door, four white doves fluttered out, circled Severus's head several times with dizzying speed, then shot out across the grounds.

When Severus turned toward the arched door Harry raced out of his room and down the stairs to meet him. He was at the bottom of the grand staircase by the time Severus had his cloak and gloves off.

Even though Severus must have been traveling for hours he looked immaculately turned out, adjusting his sleeves as he turned to greet Harry. 

"You're home!" Harry announced.

"So it would appear," came the warm reply. 

"Why didn't you Apparate from the docks?" Harry asked, his curiosity about the birds overcoming his natural inclination to throw himself into Severus's arms.

"I had cargo I wished to personally escort," Severus explained.

"Those birds?" Harry knew you couldn't Apparate living creatures like horses and, apparently, birds.

Severus arched one brow. "You saw?" Harry nodded. "French, er, nesting doves I'm hoping will take up residence in the park."

Harry had stopped several steps from the bottom, one hand trailing down the banister. The position put him at a height so that Severus had to look up to speak directly to him. He found he could watch the exquisite play of Severus's eyebrows much better from here. He took a step backward when Severus advanced up one stair. 

"What have you been doing while I was in Paris?" Severus asked, leaning in slightly.

"Wasting away from missing you," replied Harry, looking around to make sure Blakeney had departed with the coat and gloves. "Would you like to see?" He reached for the buttons of his waistcoat. 

Severus, as hoped, looked scandalized. "On the _stairs_?" he gasped.

Harry laughed and scampered back a few steps. "You did not miss me at all," he said with a feigned pout. "Not to wish to throw me down on the carpet and have your way with me as soon as you've come through the door." 

Severus seemed to sense Harry's playfulness and trod up several more of the steps, Harry retreating out of reach with each one. "It is a very fine carpet," Severus stated, as if thinking it over. 

"Better than my arse?" Harry asked, turning just slightly sideways to display the arse in question.

"Hmm, perhaps you'd better let me see it again so that I may judge," murmured Severus, looming over him as he climbed inexorably up the stairs, one or two steps below Harry. 

Harry hung his head. "I knew you would forget me amid all the distractions of Paris," he moaned, fingers trailing over his own chest like a maiden about to succumb to the vapors. 

At that moment, Severus struck, quick as a viper. Harry's legs flew out from under him, knocking him flat onto the landing at the top of the stairs, aided by Severus's weight pushing him down onto the admittedly fine carpet.

"Forget?" Severus growled, his mouth close enough to Harry's for a kiss. "Nothing is as distracting as this sweet mouth," he breathed, distracting Harry with the heat of the promised kiss.

"Just my mouth?" Harry said, not at all done with teasing though it was much harder to think as he slid his arms around Severus's neck. 

Severus slid one finger along Harry's jaw. "Your chin is quite fine as well," he drawled, following the fingertip with his lips. 

Harry managed, despite the sweep of lust creeping through his veins, to snort quietly in disbelief. "You must have found another lover in Paris if you won't even ravish me properly." 

"How can I ravish you if you won't keep still?" complained Severus, but it was Harry's mirth not his ardor that shook his body against Severus's. Then they were kissing again, half on, half off the landing and Harry's ardor shoved his mirth away. His buckled shoes knocked against Severus's Hessian boots, the echo of it sounding in the cavernous hallway. 

They both went still, mid-kiss, when a squeaky, if stentorian voice called from below. "Is that you, sir?" It was Blakeney, calling from the foot of the stairs. "And…er, Master Harry? I heard a noise and--" 

Harry tried to imagine the view from the house-elf's angle, of Harry's legs dangling off the landing enclosed between Severus's, their soles knocking together. His head popped up, looking at Severus and grinning. "I, er, fell, and Severus--Sir Severus--was helping me up," he called out.

There was a soft elf-sized snort from below. "Very good, sir, welcome home."

Harry woke up the next morning feeling thoroughly ravished even though the bed beside him was empty. He let his thoughts linger on the delights of the afternoon and evening past, then on the one ahead before climbing out of bed. 

Once dressed he let his nose lead him downstairs to the breakfast room. Severus was already seated, the newspaper propped up in front of him. Once again the headlines concerned the Duc d'laCour who had presented himself and his children at the embassy for asylum in London. 

Severus was not, however, alone. Remus Lupin was seated several chairs away, leaving the one beside Severus free. Good mornings were exchanged while Harry helped himself to eggs and sausages from the sideboard. 

As before, Monsieur Lupin was plainly dressed. Harry remembered from their brief meeting in Paris that Lupin was Severus's steward, though Harry was not exactly sure what that entailed. He had the feeling they'd been discussing something in the paper before Harry came down but the conversation turned easily to other topics. Lupin asked him how he liked England and Harry admitted he had not seen very much of it. He also inquired after Harry's godfather, to the simmering amusement of Severus. 

Lupin's mission, it turned out, was to go over the account books, which he assured Harry with nearly Gallic eye-rolling, that he would not require Severus for, preferring the privacy of the study and the soft complaints of Blakeney. 

"Have you been in the maze yet?" Lupin asked Harry and at his negative, turned once again to Severus, "There, you see, you haven't shown him anything."

It was difficult for Harry to maintain his innocent expression when Severus had dropped one hand onto his leg and had been inching it upward under the breakfast table. Severus's expression, when he drew his hand back to dab his napkin over his mouth suggested what he wanted to show Harry and it had nothing to do with mazes.

Nevertheless they let Lupin shoo them out of the house with a cheery, "And don't let him cheat and Apparate to the center." It was a fine day, not as hot as it would undoubtedly get as the season wore on. They strolled across the lawn side by side, past the stables where they looked in on the horses. 

The maze lay beyond the stables, not quite as far as the forest which served as the border of the property. The hedges were very thick and nearly twice as tall as Severus. The heavy scent of boxwoods hung in the unmoving air. 

"What's at the center?" Harry asked, running his fingertips along the short outer branches. 

"A fountain, I believe," replied Severus, propping his boot against the stone bench just outside the entrance of the maze.

"Haven't you been inside?"

They had reached the break in the greenery that bespoke the entrance. Shadowed trails led off to either side. "Not since I was a boy, before I went to school," admitted Severus. "My cousin Clyde hosted a house party when he first came into the title." The thin lips pulled into a smirk. "Before he took to drink."

"Not since then?" Harry asked in delight. Wordlessly Severus shook his head. His long hair, when they were not alone in the privacy of his bedroom, was always properly tied back in a queue, though a strand of it habitually slipped free on one side of his face. "Is it a magic fountain at least?"

Severus leaned forward and kissed him in the shadow of the maze. They were well out of sight of the house, and even of the horses. "It seemed like it when I was a child," he murmured. 

"Then we should go and find it," Harry said, pulling his mouth away to speak. Before Severus could distract him again, Harry Apparated just inside the maze. He was just far enough in to see Severus's eyes narrow in challenge. 

"What does the winner get?" called Severus, following Harry by more normal means, inside the maze, taking the opposite branch.

Harry was walking backwards, away from Severus, nearing the first turning. "Whatever he wants!" he called back. 

"How about he gets to paddle your bottom for being such a wicked tease?" Severus asked, retreating down the opposite grassy corridor.

"Sounds like you expect to win!" Harry cried with a laugh as he darted around the first turn. 

The race, it seemed, was on. Harry tried to listen for cheating pops of Apparition, but the leafy walls muffled sound. The sun was still bright overhead as he took one turning after another but its warmth did not seem to penetrate the thick walls of the maze. It was, however, peaceful as Harry wandered along, taking turns at random, though he dead-ended more than once. He huffed in exasperation at the latest one and retraced his steps, taking the alternate branch. Was that the faint splash of water ahead?

Heart racing, Harry quickened his steps. The leafy tunnels seemed to brighten with every step as though the sun too had solved the maze. Grinning with delight, Harry rounded the leafy corner.

"What kept you?" 

Severus, sitting on a brightly colored green quilt that he had most certainly not had when they'd left the house, smirked at him, fanning himself with a spray of leaves.

"Cheater!" Harry cried without venom. He stepped pointedly over Severus's outstretched legs and stopped to admire the fountain. It was several heads taller than he was, quite old and heavy, though the water was clear as it splashed into the greenish basin. "It doesn't look very magical," he commented. He ran a finger around an incised flower design cut into the stone basin.

"I think Cousin Clyde just told us that to send the children into the maze so he could drink in peace." 

Harry laughed and flung himself down on the quilt. Judging by the leaf pattern he guessed Severus had transfigured it from a handful of boxwood leaves. "You're a much better baronet than he was anyway," he grinned, turning so he could straddle the spray of legs.

Apparently Severus had been in the center long enough to transform a few more leaves into fluffy pillows with trailing leaves for tassels. "How do you know? Perhaps my own cousins are desperately plotting to kill me and wrest the title from me before I beget some brat and heir," replied Severus.

Harry went still, his smile frozen into place. He had not considered this. "You would have to marry to do that," he said with a lightness he did not feel. "Well, not beget a brat, of course, but to get an heir you--" The French aristos, Harry knew, were notoriously concerned with securing their own bloodlines, wizarding and Muggle alike. 

Severus pulled him down and kissed him to shut him up. "I'm not planning to marry," he said, sliding his arms around Harry's hips. "I was inverted long before I was a baronet and don't see the need to make some bit of muslin miserable just to pass on a title I inherited by accident."

"You might change your mind," Harry said, as his heart, which felt as though it had stopped momentarily, thudded once more in his chest. Harry had been raised in the theater and knew even the most profoundly inverted, when there were bloodlines to preserve, did their duty to their families. 

Severus waved one hand dismissively before returning it to Harry's back. "I have an older cousin living very nicely on my other property in the north, on the expectation that I will not. His son will no doubt inherit the title and his daughters will marry well on the expectation." 

"You do not mind being _inverti_?" Harry asked, enjoying Severus in this forthcoming mood. Here in the center of the maze the sun was warmer than it had been in the corridors. Harry wiggled upright and took off his coat, tossing it to the edge of the quilt. 

"How can I when I have such an engaging young man straddling my legs?" replied Severus. He must have been warm too because his coat joined Harry's in the pile of silk superfine though it took considerably more wiggling since Harry was weighting down his legs.

Harry paused thoughtfully. "I will not always be young," he felt obliged to point out as he loosened his suddenly confining cravat. 

"When you are not, you may not wish such a wicked baronet as your lover," Severus rebutted. He must have seen the sweat dewing Harry's brow because he began solicitously to unbutton Harry's linen shirt. "A wicked older baronet," he continued, drawing Harry's hands to his own shirt while he slid the cravat from its knot.

Something of the warmth of the day was making Harry's breeches feel very confining. "As long as you are always more wicked than you are old," replied Harry, pulling Severus's now idle fingers to the fastenings of his breeches. He shifted to accommodate the cooling process only to find the warmth had intensified once his bare skin was exposed to the summer air

"Ah," said Severus, as if the mysteries of the philosophers had been revealed. Harry decided to further share his methods for seeking relief from the heat, bending to tug the fine lawn breeches from Severus's body, adding them to the pile of clothing by the quilt's edge.

"How are we to judge this dividing line between my age and my wickedness?" Severus asked, taking Harry in his arms now that they had both done all they could to coax breezes to cool their skin off. 

"Ah," Harry echoed. "As long as you are never too old to make love to me in the middle of a maze." He wasn't entirely certain Severus had heard him, busy as he was, trailing kisses among the dewy beads of sweat on Harry's throat. 

It was not solely breezes from the rustling hedges that caressed his skin, but fingers that had sought and learned the ways to pleasure him. Harry was passive only long enough to encourage further caresses with a moan before his mouth latched around one nipple. Severus too had found his voice, groaning appreciatively as his fingertips stroked the dampened tendrils at the back of Harry's head. Harry explored other places with kisses, not minding the sweat-slick skin under his tongue when his own was in a similar condition. 

Being naked had not cooled them off very much, not when the movement of bodies shifting and straining against each other generated its own sort of heat, quite apart for the heat of the day. 

His feet were dangling off the edges of the quilt, before, with a sound of great effort, Severus pulled his mouth away and urged them both to shift. Harry nodded in agreement, mouth lowering around his prize. Salty smells mingled with the heavy perfume of the boxwoods, and the masculine aroma that lingered between Severus's legs. 

Harry had taken the lessons of soixante neuf to heart, practicing with Severus every chance he got. He was not quite as good as Severus at caressing--oh!--that spot behind his balls while sucking but he did so love the challenge of each and every lesson.

For many long moments in the center of the maze the sun was the only witness to the entwined bodies below, the liquid sounds mingling with the soft, nearly unheard splashes from the fountain. A hoarse cry, that may have been a name broke the afternoon stillness, then another, a long moan filled with aching relief. 

For a time too, the solar disk bore sole witness to those same two bodies, much slicker and sweatier than when they began, nestled together, voices low in celebration of their intimacy, not as a caution to their isolation.

So it was hand in hand that they made their way back to the mouth of the maze. They'd dressed again as a concession to modesty but even Severus had not seen the necessity of retying his cravat or of doing up all the buttons on his shirt. 

Harry felt delightfully rumpled, proud of Severus's mussed state as they strolled the leafy corridors, fingers entwined.

"Severus?"

They both stopped at the sound, for it had come from outside the boxwoods. 

"Are you in there?"

"That's Lupin," Severus said, fingers clenching involuntarily against Harry's. They hurried down the long, last corridor until they spotted the steward hovering near the entrance. It was only when they reached the gap in the hedgerow that Severus released Harry's hand. No one, beholding their disheveled state could wonder what they'd been up to, but Lupin did not seem to notice. His gaze skittered away from Harry's.

Severus angled one hand overhead, leaning against the boxwood, polite inquiry upon his face. Once again Lupin tried to look at Harry only to look down at his own buckled shoes instead. "What has happened?" Severus asked, picking up on Lupin's agitation. 

"A courier arrived while you were…away. The Marquis d'Malfoy and all his family have been arrested in Paris," Lupin replied, his voice full of worry.

Harry gasped, stepping close enough to grasp Severus's arm. 

"What charge?" demanded Severus.

Lupin was shaking his head. "The usual, sedition and treason to the Republic. Severus--" He did not appear to wish to say whatever it was he had to say next. 

"What? What?" Severus was leaning forward, straining as if to bring himself closer to the dire news.

"It was…Harry's name upon the warrant."

All the blood seemed to flee Harry's face as both men turned to face him. Then Severus shook his head. "Harry has been here, with me--" 

"Not his signature, his name," Lupin explained in a troubled tone. "Executed by the Wizard Revolutionary Liaison DeCharne on evidence given by…by…"

"But I gave no such evidence," Harry protested. "And I've never even heard of this DeCharne person." He looked imploringly toward Severus. Severus's and Lupin's countenances were twin pictures of grimness.

"Did anyone speak to you after you were attacked?" Severus asked, his tone emotionless.

"Of course," Harry admitted, "That attack nearly killed--"

"And did you mention the Malfoys--any Malfoy--by name?" continued Severus relentlessly.

"Only that--" Harry felt all at once that he was trapped inside the maze and the high thick walls were closing in. "The investigator asked me if I had any…any lovers who might--"

Severus looked as though he were forcing himself to look at Harry, shuttering away the ease and happiness that had lain there only moments before. 

"And I told him only that I had spurned Draco's advances," Harry finished with the feeling of closing himself up in an iron trap.

Severus's eyes glittered dangerously. "Advances?" Before Harry could explain Severus was upon him, wand suddenly in hand. "Legilimens!" he commanded.

Unbidden images of Draco pushed up to the surface of his brain--the supercilious smirk, the flirting glances, even the letter that had earned Harry's ire with its boldness. Harry wanted to protest that he hadn't accused Draco of anything, certainly not of sedition but words had deserted his tongue while Severus was rifling through his memories.

At last Severus drew back with a grunt like a wounded animal. There was no kindness on his face now. Vanished was the tender lover of only an hour ago. Without another glance at Harry, Severus whirled on his heel and stalked off several paces before Disapparating with an angry pop.

"I've got to explain," Harry said, trying to think where it had all gone wrong. He took a step but Lupin clasped his arm.

"I'd leave him alone, lad," he said, his voice gentle.

Harry stared over the empty expanse of grass and swallowed hard, unable to forget the harsh look on Severus's features as his gaze had bored into Harry's, pulling up memories that, while perfectly innocent to Harry, had not been revealed until under duress.

Nodding, Harry straightened up, fingers tugging idly at the loose strands of his cravat. Lupin looked like he wished to say something further but said instead, "Will you be all right?"

Harry nodded again and let Lupin Apparate away before he started back to the house. He walked, giving Severus time to collect himself, hoping it would be enough.

The house was quiet when he arrived. Harry felt for a moment that he should tiptoe about but as he had nothing to be guilty about, quickly shook off this impulse. The door to Severus's study was firmly closed.

Harry went up to his room but couldn't settle to any diversion. His mind kept playing over the scene in the maze's mouth and trying to think what he could have done differently. He saw no clearer path than the truth.

By evening the study door had not cracked. Harry, not wanting to give the appearance of guilt by hiding in his room, came down to supper. But he might not have bothered. Severus did not join him and Blakeney, when questioned, said that the master had refused all entreaties to eat, but had called instead for a quantity of elf-made wine.

Harry spent the rest of the evening pacing his room and, when he heard the quiet pop close by, he raced to the door between their rooms. Instead of turning easily in his hand, the knob held. Much as Harry stared at it in disbelief, the lock resisted him. Since he had moved into this room, the door to Severus's had never been locked, not even when Severus had been away in Paris. Harry slid his hand away slowly even though it felt as though his fingers had been singed. He welcomed the ache of it; it matched perfectly the ache in his heart. 

For the first time since coming to England, Harry slept in the bed that had been assigned to him at the estate, though he did not remember sleeping at all, only staring up into the canopy unseeingly. Anger warred with disappointment and shame quarreled with self-pity as his thoughts chased each other round and round in his brain. He had done nothing--nothing!--to rouse such ire. Tomorrow he would make Severus see reason. 

Harry felt no better the next day, groggy and miserable but renewed and determined not to be ignored. He dressed carefully, even making some effort with his hair which normally resisted all efforts at taming. He was tempted to leave his spectacles behind but feared making a fool of himself by stumbling without them. Listening at the connecting door, he heard no noises on the other side. So be it. He resolved to pound on the study door until Severus let him in, or Apparate directly in where Severus could not ignore him. 

He called out a hearty good morning to Blakeney, who bowed over the morning salver of mail. "How is Sir Severus this morning?" he inquired, hoping the black mood had passed.

"Gone, sir," the elf intoned.

"Gone? Gone where?" Harry sat down hard on the stairs near the bottom.

"To Scotland, I believe, for the fishing."

"Fishing?" Harry echoed, feeling stupid, all his plans evaporating like smoke.

"Left early this morning, yes, sir," said Blakeney, bowing again without even a word about his lumbago before continuing into the breakfast room. 

Harry had never felt so alone. He had never thought of this house as a prison before but now he longed to leave it, to force Severus to give chase. Only he was no longer certain Severus would come to find him. Briefly he even considered returning to Paris , to be with his godfather and his friends at the theater. To leave now would be to abandon all that he had found--or hoped he had found--with Severus. Nevertheless, after breakfast, he wrote Sirius a letter, filling it as full of news as he could, just to feel connected with his old life.

As the empty days dragged on, Harry went back and forth. More than once he sat down to write Sirius again and ask him to come to England and collect him, or to Regulus and ask his help to get Harry home to Paris. The letters remained unwritten. Every morning he hoped the morning mail would contain a letter from Severus, either in apology or simple contact. It did not feel right to flee to Paris when things between them were unresolved.

Then one night he awoke from a troubled sleep to find a great commotion going on outside. He raced to his window and saw something to make his heart leap--Sir Severus astride his big bay. Harry fumbled for his spectacles. Was that Lupin with him? Also astride one of the horses from the stables. Both men looked spattered and windblown by their journey. As soon as they dismounted, grooms, looking sleepy and hastily dressed, led the horses away. 

Harry wanted nothing more than to hurry downstairs and fling himself into Severus's arms. But for the presence of Lupin, he might have. What exactly _was_ Lupin doing with him at this hour? Had they been fishing together? A harsh new emotion rose in his chest. Were the two men simply old school friends as Severus had explained, or something more?

Torn between dejection and anger Harry sank back onto his own bed. Despite himself he listened for sounds of Severus and Lupin coming up the stairs, torturing himself by imagining what would happen next and whether he could bear listening if he heard sounds of the two of them together coming from the other room.

After several anguished moments Harry realized he heard no one at all coming up the stairs, not even Severus alone. Nor even any telltale pops of Apparition. There were, of course, guest rooms along the next corridor but Harry, who understood drama very well, did not think Severus and Lupin would use one. 

Stepping closer to his own door, he could definitely hear the low hum of voices, but they came no nearer. Harry cracked his bedroom door open, craning to hear what was going on. After a few seconds he heard boot steps along the tiled floor below and the determined shutting of the study door.

He lay awake a long time after that, but if Severus ever sought his own bed, alone or otherwise, Harry never heard it. 

He expected to be alone at breakfast as he had been the last week but both Severus and Lupin, neither looking well-rested, looked up from their plates when Harry walked in.

"Good morning, Harry," Lupin said. Though the greeting was hearty, Harry did not miss the wary glance Lupin gave Severus.

"Good morning, Monsieur Lupin," he responded politely. "Good morning, Severus."

"Harry," Severus acknowledged, glancing up only briefly. It was the first word Harry had heard directed at himself for a week but it gave him no pleasure. If they'd been alone Harry felt certain Severus would have simply ignored him.

It was the most excruciatingly awkward meal Harry had ever eaten. Lupin tried to make small talk that neither Harry nor Severus was interested in. Harry barely tasted his food, feasting instead on the long-denied sight of Severus.

Severus, however politely turned out, had the appearance of a man bedeviled. There were hollows under his eyes that had not been there before. He seemed paler and gaunter, and his dark gaze, when it flickered however briefly over Harry, was haunted. Worried, no doubt, Harry thought bitterly, over his friends in prison, sentenced to death.

Harry felt immediate remorse at his uncharitable thought. He hadn't liked Draco d'Malfoy, but he did not want him to die on the guillotine.

He didn't get a chance to voice this opinion for directly after breakfast Severus and Lupin closeted themselves away in the study. Once, Harry though he heard raised voices but the walls were so thick he couldn't be certain.

Harry was in the library, though the book in his lap had not held his interest, when the study door opened at last. Springing to his feet Harry sped to the hall. He spotted Lupin and stopped, peering past him to see if Severus had surfaced. 

Lupin stopped rolling up the parchment as he caught sight of Harry. "He isn't here, Harry," he said slowly. "He's gone. To London."

"London?" Harry slumped, the earlier hope he'd felt evaporating like morning mist.

"Urgent appointment with his tailor, I believe."

"I…I see," Harry said, groping for some sort of reason for this sudden need to gallivant around the country when Severus could avoid Harry just fine right here. He started to turn away. 

Lupin's hand came down on his shoulder. "Don't be too hard on him," he said.

Harry gave a laugh that had been wrung dry of mirth. "On _him_?" The incongruity of this request was as bitter as cauldron ashes in his mouth. 

"He's never been in…never had…anyone like you," Lupin said, giving his shoulder a squeeze before letting go. 

"He does not trust me, monsieur," replied Harry bitterly.

"Severus trusts few people," Lupin said.

"He trusts you." Harry could not help sounding jealous.

Lupin's laughter was genuine, as if he'd been waiting to hear it again. "Only after many years of not trusting anyone." Glancing back into the study as if to make sure Severus wasn't lingering behind to eavesdrop, he went on, "Have you ever known what it's like to be poor?" he asked, which was not a question Harry had been expecting. "Really crushingly poor?"

Harry shook his head. He had heard the story often of how Sirius had brought baby Harry to Paris and had to do magic in the streets to support them after he'd been disinherited from the Black fortune. But they'd always had a roof over their heads--Sirius's brother Regulus had given them the second best Black house and Harry could not remember wanting for anything growing up.

"Severus has. Before he inherited the title he had nothing," Lupin explained, "Only his wits and his learning. Hardly even a chamber pot." He shook his head ruefully. "Though his cousin was rich, Severus had no expectations. Clyde was fully expected to marry and produce heirs and only the fact that he loved drink and reckless horses brings us both here now."

Harry tried to imagine the vagaries of chance that had brought Severus here and the no doubt pressing fear that chance might take it all away again. "I think I understand," he said slowly.

"When he found me," Lupin went on, "And I realized at once that his circumstances had changed, I thought he was seeking revenge." 

Harry could easily imagine that. Sirius had told him countless stories of his and the other Marauders schoolboy pranks, the predominant victim usually Severus.

"I wouldn't have blamed him." Lupin smiled. "He's a good man--a better man than he was--but I think we all are. Even Sirius." He reached his hand out, looking so much like Harry's godfather when he was about to ruffle Harry's hair that unconsciously Harry leaned forward. Lupin carried through with it this time. "Maybe especially Sirius now that they both have you in common."

The conversation with Lupin had given Harry a great deal to think about. However, while he was at lunch the next day--alone, for apparently tailors in London required several days of consultation--Blakeney announced a visitor.

"What?" Harry asked around his peach slice. "Did you inform this visitor that Sir Severus is not at home?" Not at home, of course, was the traditional excuse for everything from lying on one's deathbed to a social cut, though sometimes, like now, it was actually true.

"It is not Sir Severus he wishes to see," Blakeney said, sniffing with the sort of disapproval only butlers ever achieved.

"Me?" Harry dabbed at his mouth with his napkin. The only person he knew in England beside Severus was Lupin, who would have simply joined him in the dining room. At Blakeney's nod, Harry said, "Show him into the blue drawing room."

"Very good, sir."

Harry waited several minutes, checking his appearance in the glass before following. He entered and closed the drawing room door behind him. His visitor was unfamiliar, older than Harry and even than Severus. He was thin and quite unfashionably bald. 

"Monsieur Potter?"

And not English, for his accent was flawless.

"I'm afraid you have the advantage of me, Monsieur--?"

"DeCharne," the man supplied. He bowed slightly in his unfashionably dark suit and Harry noticed a Revolutionary rosette on his lapel. "I have the honor to be the Revolutionary Liaison between Wizards and Muggles," he continued with the air of pronouncement. 

"You work for the Committee?" Harry asked, feeling his palms go a bit damp as though he was about to stride onto the stage without knowing his lines. Even here, out of the country he had called home for most of his life, a visit from a Committee member was seldom good news.

"Indeed."

Harry gestured politely to the settee, taking the opposite one. He wished he'd thought to tell Blakeney to bring in tea but the idea of a visitor had startled him so much he'd forgot how to be a proper host.

"I'm very sorry Sir Severus is not at home," said Harry, for it was the literal truth. There was something about his visitor that made him wish they were not alone.

"It is not, as I explained to your elf, Sir Severus I wish to speak to," DeCharne said, his nose wrinkling slightly at the mention of Blakeney. "I find myself on an urgent mission that I believe you can help me fulfill."

So much for the possibility that his visitor was simply a determined theater fan. "A mission, sir?" he replied, deliberately dropping the French honorifics in favor of the English.

DeCharne's eyes were very cold, though he tried to smile as if he'd been told so and wished to divert attention from them. " _Oui_. I have been charged to find the identity of the Black Asphodel."

Harry nearly laughed. "You and all the ladies of Paris," he replied.

DeCharne smiled again, as if he knew a secret. "Fortunately for the Revolutionary Committee, the Asphodel is not so clever as he believes and has left clues for others not so blinded by his heroics to see."

"You know who it is?" asked Harry, the certainty of DeCharne's words chilling him.

"I believe so, yes."

"Then you know it isn't me," Harry said, resisting the urge to sigh in relief. "So I fail to see how I can be of any service to the Committee." As if he would.

His hope that the interview would be that simple withered quickly. DeCharne sighed expressively. "Unfortunately my belief is not enough to send the man to the arms of Madame Guillotine and I must request your assistance to obtain proof." 

Harry stood up in protest. "I will not aid such a detestable quest. Whoever this man is, he is a hero on both sides of the Channel."

The cold eyes did not change at Harry's outburst. "He is an outlaw and an enemy of the French people. His…disruptions to the duly proclaimed judicial process cannot be tolerated." Something like a genuine emotion flickered through the dark eyes but its presence gave Harry no comfort.

"His 'disruptions' are quite well tolerated by those he saves from death," argued Harry, pacing several steps in front of the settee. 

"My mission--"

"I don't care about your mission!" Harry said in agitation.

DeCharne blinked and Harry nearly gave into a shudder. "I must…insist," the man said without raising his voice to Harry's level.

"I am not a French citizen, nor am I on French soil," Harry reasoned.

"Unfortunately your godfather chose to remain in French care when you departed our land," DeCharne replied, the force of his words so powerful that he spoke much more quietly, hardly louder than a hiss. 

Harry's legs seemed to buckle as he sat down hard on the settee. "You have…you have…"

DeCharne reached into his waistcoat and pulled out a letter. Harry recognized the handwriting on the outside as his own. It was the one he'd sent to Sirius a few days ago. DeCharne allowed him to take it and turn it over and over in his fingers. "It was your name on that warrant that condemned the Malfoys," Harry said, in sudden sickening realization.

"I had that honor, yes."

Harry gave the letter back to the outstretched hand. "Why are you doing this?"

DeCharne's mouth twitched. "We believe you are not only in a position to provide proof of this villain's identity but possess the acting skills to manipulate this position to the ends we in the Committee, desire."

Harry thought of Sirius languishing in a filthy prison cell. "I do not even know who this person is."

DeCharne adjusted the tiny ruff of lace around his wrists. "Ah, you know more than you think, monsieur, for the name of the notorious outlaw, the Black Asphodel, is none other than--" His reptilian eyes fixed on Harry. "Regulus Black."  
~~**~~

Harry dragged his fingertips along the heavy boxwoods of the maze. After M. DeCharne's pronouncement, the rest of the interview had been very short, and, for Harry, quite forcefully aware that he had no choice but to cooperate with the Committee in order to save his godfather, very bitter. 

"You will attend the upcoming Ministry Ball and make yourself known to Monsieur Black and attempt to obtain the proof we need to prosecute him in France," DeCharne had said with the heavy air of having the upper hand in all things.

"And if I cannot?" Harry had protested, though the image of Sirius's once laughing face transformed by prison conditions swam into his vision. 

"Madame Guillotine cares little enough if the blood she spills is aristo or…" DeCharne's smile had been thin but as full of actual mirth as Harry had yet seen him, "theatrical."

If only he had Severus to turn to in his time of trouble, Harry thought with deep bitterness. But Severus would not lift a finger to help Sirius under the best of circumstances. Harry knew no one else in England save Remus Lupin who, though kind, would do nothing without Severus's leave. Besides, what could a mere steward do for a foreign prisoner?

Briefly he considered writing to Regulus. But what would he say? Rescue your brother though the French will be lying in wait to bring you to justice?

Harry's restless thoughts had led his steps once around the outer perimeter of the maze. He had no desire to go inside again--it was the last place he had been happy and he could not bear to relive those particular memories. 

He was distracted from his unproductive thoughts by the appearance, across the meadow, of a horse and rider. For a breathless moment he thought it might be Severus, returned from the ministrations of his tailor in answer to Harry's prayers. He realized at once that the height and bearing of the rider were different than that of Sir Severus and when the horse and rider drew closer, Harry could see that the man was dressed as a groom or perhaps a footman on holiday.

"Good day, milord," the man called out as he drew nearer to Harry's position near the maze. 

Harry smiled for what felt like the first time in days. "I'm no lord, just a guest at the house."

The man wore simple homespun and leather, well-kept and hardly patched, though his shoes were dusty and his hems were frayed. He was older than Harry though not as old as Severus he guessed. He had a pleasing, if plain, face and thick honey-colored brown hair. 

"Aye," the man said, peering down at him from astride the horse. "I've seen you at the stables."

A groom then, Harry supposed. The man's accent was softer, with more rolling of consonants than Severus's. "Be you needing a ride back to the house?" asked the groom, jerking his head toward the expanse of park that sloped upward to the house. 

Harry, whose brain kept conjuring thoughts to chase each other round and round in his skull, shook his head. He was not fit company for anyone, not even a groom. He watched the horse trot away, wishing he could live a simple life like the groom. How wonderful it would be to rise each day with nothing more complicated to do than care for a stable full of horses.

When he felt no nearer to the solution from his woes, he started walking back to the house, preferring the distraction of exercise to magical means. As he approached, however, he realized the flurry of servants could mean only one thing--the lord of the manor had returned home.

Sure enough the study door was closed. Harry, full of dread at the mission DeCharne had given him, summoned his courage and knocked.

There was a moment's pause before the achingly familiar voice called out, "Come in."

Severus, here in the privacy of his study, had removed his coat. He was seated behind the broad desk surrounded by parchment and quills and pots of ink. Plans from his tailor, no doubt, Harry thought bitterly.

"Good day, Sir Severus," he said, unwilling to chance the seriousness of his request by offending Severus with unwanted familiarity. That locked door had spoken volumes to him and dispelled any notions he'd had of confiding his troubles to a sympathetic ear.

Severus's expression gave nothing away as he replied., "Good day, Harry." He gestured toward the armchair in front of the desk.

Harry sank into it gratefully but kept his posture correct, hands neatly folded on his lap. He knew he should make small talk, inquire about the trip and everyone's health, but the confused state of his thoughts made this impossible. 

"I would like to ask you something," he managed, ignoring the wariness that stole into Severus's face. 

"Yes?" asked Severus, "What is it?"

"There is a ball, at the Ministry, in a week."

"Yes, yes," Severus said, his quill bobbing with obvious impatience. 

"I should like leave to attend," Harry said, ignoring the impatient gesture. He'd thought this through and would attempt to go alone without an invitation if Severus refused.

"Whatever for?" Severus asked, frowning now.

Harry had his rehearsed line ready. "Sirius's brother, Regulus, will be there and I should like to make his acquaintance."

Severus's expression hardened and the quill quavered as if his fingers had spasmed. "I see," he said. "Do you even own any dress robes?"

Trust that Severus's first thought would be for his appearance. "No, I--I've never owned any." The state of his robes had been the very last thing on his mind this afternoon. 

"Nonsense, I'll transfigure some of mine. They'll do until some can be procured from town for the season," replied Severus, still frowning at him. Harry kept his face expressionless lest Severus try to probe deeper. "Very well," he said with an air of decision. "I will escort you. As it happens, your old friends the Malfoys will be in attendance."

Something fluttered in Harry's belly. "They escaped?" he asked in amazement. "The Black Asphodel rescued them?" 

Severus's look was dismissive as he bent to his paperwork. "I do believe he did."

~~**~~

There was an account of the rescue in the _Daily Prophet_ the next morning. Harry had not slept well. He had not expected Severus to come to his bed so he had not been disappointed. However, the precariousness of his mission for DeCharne generated nerves far worse than any missed cue could have.

"The Marquis and his family," the article read, "considered a high risk for rescue by England's dashing hero, the Black Asphodel, were awarded extra security measures, including, our sources tell us, a magic dampening field. It is believed that this caused the Muggle jailers to be overly confident, thus allowing the Asphodel and an accomplice, dressed as priests, to gain entry into the prison.

"Though what followed is not clear, some sort of collapsible device--possibly Muggle-built--was found outside the city gates as well as a wig believed to have been worn by yet another confederate posing as a serving woman. There was the usual standard of a note left with these devices bearing the humble imprint of the asphodel flower.

"However the selfless Asphodel accomplished this magic-less miracle, this paper is certain that all Britain will join in saluting him."

Harry put the paper down. Was Sirius's brother really clever enough to have pulled this off? "I still don't understand--" he began, earning a sharp look from Severus, who had buried himself in another section of the paper as soon as Harry had come down. For just a moment, he'd forgotten that they were barely speaking. 

Severus's gaze flicked over the banner headline on the front page. "Don't understand how the paper can write such twaddle over a fairly simple bit of magic?"

Harry frowned. "But there wasn't any magic--the paper said there was a magic dampening field." He ran his finger down the column searching for the reference. 

Severus, however, snorted. "There wasn't any wand magic, I'm sure," he said loftily. "Wizards tend to forget that even Muggles can build things that fool the eye." 

Harry looked up from his paper. "Then how did three Malfoys get out when the jailers were expecting only two priests?" He scanned the article again. "And a serving woman?" 

"I imagine one of the priests was not really a priest," Severus said offhandedly, rustling his paper. 

"Well, of course he wasn't, he was just posing--"

Really, Severus had eye rolling down to nearly French perfection. "I mean, one of the priests wasn't even a person, but a propped up structure, carried by the other priest and the serving woman. And I imagine the serving woman's skirts were tailored--built, really, to hold a slender young man curled around them. The Marquis and his wife assumed the roles of the two priests while the Asphodel himself carried the young man out under his skirts. The second accomplice would only have to disguise himself in the prison long enough for the discovery to be made and the magic dampening field to be lifted before making his own escape in the hue and cry." 

It sounded so--well, not simple when Severus explained it--but well-planned and no doubt flawlessly executed. Harry looked down at the newspaper, wondering how he'd missed all those details. If Regulus was really as clever as that perhaps Harry could be clever enough to figure out a way to warn him that the French authorities were closing in. Surely someone who could come up with a plan like that could outsmart DeCharne. 

For a moment he looked up at Severus admiringly, then remembered with a suddenness that left him breathless that they were on the outs. Severus seemed to remember at the same moment for he excused himself without finishing his breakfast. 

They did not cross paths the rest of that day, nor did Harry see him over breakfast the next day. The articles in the paper today were full of interviews with each Malfoy, each of whom claimed they had no idea who their rescuer had been, only that they were glad to have been the target of one of his spectacular rescues, the details of which were revealed, just as Severus had predicted. Narcissa had seemed to enjoy dressing as a priest. Lucius, while sounding much less intrigued by the manner of their escape, had mentioned his gratitude that the Asphodel's plan had included a heavily laden carriage to take as much wealth as they could out of the country for their new start in England.

Blakeney found him curled up in the library, mostly staring out the long-paned window, and informed him that Sir Severus wished to see him upstairs.

"How's your lumbago?" Harry asked politely as they trod up the stairs.

"Better than it will be once winter sets in," the elf reported with a long-suffering sigh.

Harry was ushered into Severus's bedchamber, though from the very business-like expression on his face, Harry held no hope that it might be desire to resume passionate relations with him. He had no time to even look around, though it was absurd to think anything much had changed in the few weeks he had been barred from this room. Severus handed him a set of robes. 

"Slip these on over yours," he commanded softly and Harry obliged. They were quite long but still, to Harry's eye, quite fashionable. He would, of course, have gone to the ball in rags if he had to, if it meant Sirius's life.

Severus, wand in hand, circled him while Blakeney stood to one side. "Of course, I'm not a tailor," he said, shortening the sleeves with a tap of his wand before stepping back to assess the effect. Harry tried not to drink in the sight of him, looking more relaxed than he had in weeks.

The doors of one of the armoires stood open and there were several boxes in front of it, bearing the name of a no-doubt fashionable London tailor. The other armoire remained closed. Harry supposed it held other slightly less fashionable discards such as the robe he was now wearing.

Severus had crouched to modify the hem, twirling his finger to indicate Harry should turn around. A few more tucking spells and the dress robes fit tolerably well. "There now," Severus said, and the studied lightness in his voice made Harry look up warily. "Regulus Black cannot fail to want to take you home looking like that."

Harry felt as though he'd been kicked by a horse. Did Severus think he wanted to whore himself out to his godfather's brother? Angrily he jerked off the robes and tossed them on the bed he would most likely never share again and stormed out of the room.

It was Harry who avoided Severus in the days that followed. His pride was so wounded that he nearly cast _Incendio_ on the altered robes when they turned up, neatly folded on his bed the next day. He would need them, he supposed, to blend in with the crowd of English aristos, he thought with rancor. 

Since he had barely seen Severus as the evening of the ball drew near, Harry determined that he would make his own way there if Severus did not honor his promise to escort him. He was therefore ashamed of his relief when Dewhurst appeared to help him dress and announce that Sir Severus would be waiting downstairs at half past the hour.

Harry walked down the stairs slowly at the appointed time. He could not resist looking at Severus while unobserved. His dress robes were in the first water of fashion, of such a dark green they appeared black when he moved, flicking out his snuff box to take a pinch while waiting for Harry. Then he turned, and caught sight of Harry, still halfway down the stairs.

For a moment he felt as if he was back on the stage, a solo spotlight turned upon him. Unlike being on stage, however, Harry had no lines to speak.

Severus too seemed to have been struck speechless. He extended one hand when Harry was a mere two steps above him. When Harry hesitated, he said, with more kindness than Harry had heard in his voice in a long time, "To Apparate us together."

Harry nodded trying to ignore the traitorous flutter of his heart as he took Severus's hand. Once they arrived, he resisted the urge to hang on. They'd Apparated just inside the receiving foyer of the ballroom. Beyond, Harry could see the dancing lights of hundreds of candles suspended over the ballroom itself and hear music filling the huge hall. 

Severus pulled him aside as a gaily dressed witch and her beau headed toward the dance floor. "I shall call for you at one a.m., agreed?" he said, over the din of introductions being made by a harried looking official using _Sonorous_ to be heard over the orchestra. "We will speak later."

Harry nodded distractedly. He thought he already knew what Severus wished to speak to him about. Harry, who had plans of his own that evening, had no intention of being in the position to be asked to leave Severus's house, now that he was no longer wanted.

They separated and Harry did not look back. He could only think of discharging his mission tonight and of finding a way to warn Regulus if he could. From his life on the stage, he knew that the best way to begin was to learn the script--or in this case, to learn the stage. He prowled around the throngs of dancers, learning where the gaming rooms were and where the refreshment tables had been set up; with punch for the ladies and something stronger for the gentlemen. 

It wasn't long before he caught sight of a trio of blond heads surrounded by a rapt audience begging for details of their thrilling escape. The Malfoys, Harry noted, looked none the worse for their imprisonment. Harry turned away; he needed to find Regulus Black. 

Regulus, as it turned out, was not difficult to find. 

"Harry!"

Harry turned as the effusive greeting rang across the drawing room. "Monsieur Black?" he asked, for this man could be no other. He was not as tall as Sirius and there was more gray in his dark hair than the portrait in their house in Paris, but Harry recognized him at once. Harry realized too that Regulus was just as boisterously loud as his brother.

"The very same," Regulus said, clapping Harry on the back. "Heard you were in the country of course." He led them over to one of the punch bowls. "Set up with my old housemate, Snape." 

"I was, sir," Harry replied, taking the punch so he could swallow past the lump in his throat, "though I shall be returning to Paris shortly."

"Good spot for you," boomed Regulus as if he hadn't heard a word Harry had said. "Take care of you." 

"I don't need taking care of, sir," Harry said, gulping down his punch before he realized it was not watered wine with sugar for the ladies. His eyes started to stream as he caught sight of a figure in black, who stood out amongst the brighter peacocks of the British wizarding aristocracy. DeCharne looked pleased to see him with Regulus. 

"Course you don't," Regulus said, though it was clear from his tone that he didn't actually believe anything of the sort. 

"I need--" Harry set the punch cup down on the table. "I need to speak to _him_."

"Who, my boy?" asked Regulus, nonplussed.

Harry leaned closer so as not to be overheard. "The Black Asphodel."

Regulus's laugh boomed over the crowd and Harry shrank back in alarm. "Better get yourself arrested when you go back to Paris, hadn't you, so you can get rescued!" Regulus replied, clapping what was no doubt a friendly hand on Harry's shoulder. 

Harry felt so ill he forgot and reached for the punch cup and took another swig of the whiskey punch. Either Regulus Black was the best actor Harry had ever seen--

Or he was not the Black Asphodel. 

 

~~**~~

The encounter with Regulus did, however, give Harry an idea. After being dutifully introduced to Regulus's wife and taking a turn around the dance floor with his blushing daughter, Harry made his excuses amid promises to visit them in London during the season.

Searching the throng for his quarry, Harry spotted Severus in one of the gaming rooms though there were no cards or dice in his hand. Harry allowed himself an unobserved look. He would miss England when he returned to Paris as he'd informed Regulus, and though Severus would never care, he would miss him too.

Enough. He had urgent business to complete this evening and his time was growing shorter.

Knowing what he must do, he cornered Draco Malfoy. "Heard you got lucky and got yourself rescued," he said as Draco lounged against a wall. Harry had contrived to maneuver him away from his parents, who were still regaling a revolving crowd with the dramatics of their escape. 

"No thanks to you, Potter," Draco spat at him. "Safe and snug in Sir Severus's bed while we were rotting in prison." 

"Looks like you didn't rot very much," Harry snorted. Draco was every inch as fashionable in his silver satin as he had been in Paris. 

"Well, we were rescued, weren't we?" Draco drawled, looking very smug again. 

"Bribed your way out, more like," retorted Harry.

"You know the Committee don't need bribes. They arrest us and take our lands and all our things--oh, well, you wouldn't know about that since you have to sleep with an aristo to have anything."

Harry ignored the burning anger in his belly at this barb and also the fact that Draco himself had been one of the aristos who'd wanted to sleep with him. "I don't believe the Black Asphodel rescued you. He rescues people who have some worth to society," taunted Harry.

"Shows what you know," Draco said, a pleased smile on his thin lips. 

"Who is it then?" Harry asked with feigned casualness. 

Draco snorted. "As if I'd tell you. You'd probably run back to the Committee and turn him in for the reward."

Inwardly Harry squirmed. Though he had no interest in the reward, he had ties, however unwanted, to the Committee. "You don't even know, I'll bet. I bet he made sure you never saw his face," he said as if suppressing glee. 

Draco pushed away from the wall. "I did. I had to crawl into this contraption under a lady's skirt and hang on for all I was worth." The shudder that went through him was not feigned. "If we'd been stopped--"

"Then who was it?" asked Harry, pressing the moment.

Draco regained his poise. "I wouldn't tell you even if I--"

"I knew it!" Harry said, for Draco had never been his real quarry. 

"My father--" Draco began in protest. 

"Doesn't know any more than you. The Asphodel is a master of disguises," Harry insisted. "He was dressed as a lady, probably wore thick make-up and a wig since he couldn't use Polyjuice to hide his face."

"My father knows," Draco said and the stubborn look on his face was no longer mere bravado. Harry had been certain all along that, though Draco had not been entrusted with the secret, the Marquis had.

"Prove it," Harry said, as if he sought no more than an autograph.

"Why should I?" said Draco, looking sulky at being caught out. 

Harry looked cautiously to either side, though he was certain no one was close enough to overhear. "Because Unforgivable Curses are just as illegal here as they are in France and I'm certain your father would be interested to know exactly why his family--"

"All right!" Draco wrinkled up his pointed nose as if he smelled something bad.

"Have the Asphodel meet me in the library at midnight. He can hide behind the drapes or something so I don't see his face." He paused to make sure Draco was listening. "Have your father tell him there is someone I need the Asphodel to rescue who is being held prisoner in France."

Draco straightened, giving no hint whether Harry's plea had moved him. Harry watched him retreat down the hall as his own heart seemed to start beating again. 

A prickling at the back of his neck alerted him that he was no longer alone in the corridor.

"Well played," DeCharne said, as if congratulating Harry on a cricket match.

"I am not certain it worked," Harry said, unsure how much DeCharne had overheard.

"Did you arrange a meeting?"

Harry breathed out in relief. DeCharne had not heard every detail. "Yes, at quarter past midnight, in the library." He took a deep breath. "You will release my godfather?"

DeCharne's smile was reptilian. "When we have the Black Asphodel in custody."

~~**~~

Harry made sure he was in place five minutes before the appointed hour. His nerves were worse than the worst stage fright he'd ever experienced. Would the Black Asphodel show up? Had Draco told his father? Was it--could it actually be Regulus Black?

Up and down Harry paced, far away from the lights and gaiety of the ball. Keeping an eye on the mantel clock, Harry grew more and more anxious. When both hands were upright he tried to compose himself, standing beside a long sofa, waiting. Slowly the longest hand clicked over a notch and Harry began to panic. One of his precious minutes to warn the Asphodel gone--

"Do not turn around."

The voice, the merest whisper, sounded into one ear. Harry nearly jumped out of his skin and the voice repeated its warning. "Do not turn around."

Harry nodded to show that he understood, resisting the near overwhelming urge to face his visitor. 

"Why have you asked to see me?" 

Harry could tell that the man stood very close behind him for he could feel the tell-tale warmth of another body close to his own. "To warn you," he said quickly, fastening his gaze on the inexorably moving hand of the mantel clock. "The French Committee has set a trap to catch you."

"With you as bait?" Even whispered, the amusement in the words was plain.

"Merely the instrument of deliverance, sir," replied Harry. "They believe they have ferreted out your identity."

"DeCharne has been following a false trail." The voice was no longer amused.

"You…know about him?" Harry asked, startled.

"I do."

Another minute had clicked by, sounding very loud within the hushed walls of the library. "You haven't much time, sir. He is coming to apprehend you at quarter past."

There was a pause, full of a slow breath, close enough to ruffle the hair on the back of Harry's head. "How does he know I am here?"

Harry hung his head, fidgeting nervously with the lace at his cuffs. "I told him," he admitted.

"If your honor means so little to you, then why warn me?" Even whispered, the voice held contempt. 

A lump rose in Harry's throat, but he swallowed it down. "He is blackmailing me, sir," Harry admitted, amazed that was able to speak this unshared pain to anyone. "I had to help him--or at least seem to--to buy myself time to rescue my godfather, who is being held in--"

"Dear God" the Asphodel said.

Harry startled and nearly broke his vow not to turn around. He could tell this news had surprised his visitor. "I cannot let him die," Harry said against the quickened breath. He lifted his chin and focused once more on the long hand of the clock moving toward their downfall, should either of them be discovered. "I am leaving England tonight to try to rescue him myself."

There was a snort from behind him. "I daresay your lover will have something to say about that."

Harry's pride guided his tongue. "He does not love me, monsieur. I would change that if I could, but he believes I played him false."

The whisper was very close, lips nearly touching Harry's ear. "Did you?"

"He alone has held my heart from the very start," he admitted. It was easier to say such things to a phantom, for he had never managed to say them to Severus.

"He is a fortunate man," said the whisper, sounding very strange.

Harry shook his head as another minute ticked off. "Would that he thought as you do. Please, sir, you must leave before that vile Frenchman catches you."

The man behind him straightened and Harry listened in vain for the sound of Apparition. Instead the whisper came again. "Will you promise me something?"

Harry saw that they had barest minutes to go. "Yes, of course."

"Let me attend to the rescue of your godfather. I have one particular agent who will be quite keen to dash to his aid."

"But I did not mean for you to--" protested Harry. 

"I know you didn't," came the swift whisper. "Promise me you won't go rushing off to save him."

Reluctantly Harry nodded. Before he could say another word, a hand descended to his shoulder. The gloved fingers squeezed him once before, with the sweetest sound Harry had ever heard, the Black Asphodel Apparated away.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief, his head spinning with a thousand thoughts, foremost was that he too must not be discovered here. He wasn't sure if it was his imagination or not that the library door opened just as he too, Apparated away.

Harry reappeared just outside the refreshment room and treated himself to a cool glass of weak wine. Still he longed to go ahead with his plans--nebulous as they had been--to rescue Sirius on his own, but he saw no way around his promise. 

He could only hope that the Black Asphodel would get there in time. Since he had failed in his mission, he expected DeCharne would find him soon enough. Harry's only plan was to beg for a second chance in order to give the Black Asphodel more time to carry out his promise to rescue Sirius.

Wandering around the edges of the dancing, Harry wondered if he would ever be part of the happy carefree throng again. When he heard laughter coming from the drawing room ahead he followed the sound of it until he stood in the doorway.

The room was not very crowded, though the dozen or so ladies in their finery made the room look much fuller. There was however, one gentleman present. What astonished Harry was that the gentleman was Severus.

Harry slipped inside the room as one very powdered lady implored, "Do it again, do it again."

Severus inclined his head, then took his quizzing glass between his fingers, holding it up almost like a wand. 

"They seek him here.  
They seek him there.  
Those Frenchies seek him everywhere.  
Is he in heaven--"

Severus pointed the quizzing glass straight up then flipped it straight down to the carpet as he continued.

"Or is he in hell?"

Several of the ladies gasped and covered their mouths as if they had muttered the oath themselves.

"That damned elusive Asphodel."

There was a round of laughter and applause while Severus bowed several times. When yet another lady asked for an encore, Severus begged off, winding his way between their skirts to where Harry was standing.

"Are you having a good time?" Severus asked politely. 

"Tolerable," replied Harry, feeling--nearly--that they were back on their old footing again.

"Did you find Regulus?" Severus asked, tucking his quizzing glass back into his waistcoat pocket.

"I did, Sir, thank you. He assured me I am welcome to visit any time."

Severus's gaze met his and Harry saw something much like uncertainty there. "Am I to be deprived of your company then?" he asked carefully.

Harry didn't say that lately it hadn't seemed that Severus had wanted his company, but that flicker of uncertainty gave him hope. "I suppose you could manage without me," he said with studied casualness, as--yes--the uncertainty became more pronounced, "for an hour or so for tea."

The relief that flooded through him was only heightened when Severus growled, "Minx." He offered his arm and Harry took it. "We need to speak--soon." He waited for Harry's nod before Apparating them both away. 

If Harry expected their talk that evening, he was at once disabused of that notion by the presence of Lupin in their foyer. 

"I got your message," he said, looking quite as distraught as Harry had ever seen him. "I've been frantic with worry. God, we've been so--" 

Severus made a warning noise and Lupin caught sight of Harry, looking for all the world like he was just coming into focus. In fact he looked quite unlike the calm Lupin Harry had come to know. His attire suggested he had dressed in haste and to call his cravat tied was being generous. His hair looked like it had seen only the attention of his fingers raking through it. What had happened to cause him to be in such a state?

Severus turned to Harry. "I must bid you good night," he said, but his voice held no coldness. He inclined his head toward the study and Lupin left them alone. Severus took both of Harry's hands, his thumbs rubbing the backs. "Promise me you will do nothing foolish."

Harry frowned. His experience at the maze had shown him that Severus could use Legilimency but Harry had not felt the spell being cast upon him. His brief silence conferred a terrible urgency on Severus. "Say you will wait for me," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. 

"Of course," Harry replied, more confused than ever at this reminder, however fleeting, of their more passionate past. Whether he had reassured Severus, he wasn't sure. There was the briefest pressure on his hands then Severus was gone. 

Slowly Harry went upstairs, thoughts chaotic as he sat on his own bed. What had happened to put Lupin in such a state? And what path had they--Harry and Severus-- stumbled upon--a path that might lead them back to each other?

How long he sat there Harry did not know. He heard boots on the stairs and movement in Severus's room next to his. But the door between the rooms did not open and after a flurry of activity, the sounds faded back downstairs. 

Curious, Harry peered out of his room into the corridor. There was no one about and no sounds at all from downstairs. For a moment Harry felt the terrible pain that perhaps there had been not one pair of boots upon the stairs but two. He jerked his gaze toward the next room. The door to Severus's bedroom was slightly ajar. Surely if Severus and Remus were engaged in amorous play they would not have left the door open?

Harry crept closer. Unless…unless they wanted him to catch them together. Perhaps their liaison was what Severus wanted to speak to him about. Strain as he might though, Harry could detect no sound within. He listened for a second longer before summoning his nerve and pushing the door open. 

The room was quite devoid of life. Even the fire had not been laid. It was in fact nearly as Harry had seen it last time, save for the dress robes thrown hastily across the neatly made bed. Harry realized he was still in the transfigured robes of Severus's and pulled them over his head, laying them beside Severus's. Together they looked like the mockery of the intimacy he and Severus had once shared--empty arms now straining one to another.

The thought gave him such pain despite the bubble of hope he'd had earlier, that he had to look away from the bed.

Then he frowned. Severus had obviously left in quite a hurry--the door of one of his armoires was ajar. Taking out his wand, Harry lit a bedside lamp as a prickle of something not quite right went through him. It wasn't the closest armoire that was open, but the second one, the one that Harry had never seen open, its door now showing a gap of darkness to the secrets within.

He would just shut it, he told himself, standing before the formidable structure. It was nearly the twin of the one Severus had drawn the transfigured robes from, nearly seven feet tall and broad as two men. 

And not locked. 

With the feeling of someone pulling back the drapes on a hiding and willful child, Harry flung the door open.

To be met with the sight of merely more clothes within. Harry nearly laughed aloud at his own bravado. 

Only…wait. These weren't Severus's usual flawlessly tailored clothes. In fact most of these looked as though they'd never been closer to a tailor than a carriage on the street. The ménage of clothes more closely resembled the debris Harry had in his own dressing room back at the theater. There were several wigs, one even powdered like a footman's. There was brightly-colored livery to go with it. Shoes, plain and buckled, lined the bottom of the armoire. There was even an apron and skirt for a lady, though any lady that could fit into that skirt must be twice as big as Harry. 

Arranged carefully along the inner shelf was a row of glass vials. Harry pulled one out and saw hair inside. And in the next--blond and curly--and the next-nearly gray. Harry remembered that Severus had Polyjuiced himself into a servant upon his return to Paris. Then, Harry had believed, it had merely been to catch him unawares and to test his loyalty.

But surely Severus wasn't planning on impersonating a parson, or a fat lady or a footman to test Harry again. A footman--Harry remembered his journey from Paris and the notion that a footman had departed the carriage before Calais.

But why? Was Severus…wanted? Surely he roamed the streets of Paris, in his own features and had never been arrested. 

Unless….

Unless he was wanted in another guise.

_They seek him here, they seek him there. Those Frenchies seek him everywhere._

Suddenly Harry knew, knew it as surely as he'd known the man in the box at the Theatre Francais had come to see him. The Black Asphodel, the cleverest and most daring of outlaws, was Severus Snape.

And Harry had just sent him into terrible danger. Surely he was even now off to rescue Sirius, on Harry's request. 

Harry had to warn him, though surely Severus would be halfway to Dover by now. 

Harry did not know the way they had taken when he had arrived, so to try to Apparate to the coast would be madness. However, he could still ride and find his way with the Four Points Spell. Also, as Severus would have to sail to Calais because of the wards in place around the French borders, he would no doubt have to wait for the yacht to be prepared and for the tide before he could sail. That gave Harry a chance to catch up to him. Even though he had promised Severus he would wait, surely the circumstances had changed now that Harry knew his true identity.

Racing back to his own room through the door between them, Harry threw on his traveling cloak and grabbed his purse with all the galleons he had in it. He did not think the servants would notice if he left but he was silent as he crept down the stairs all the same.

Once outside, he Apparated straight to the stables. A broom would of course have been faster but he didn't have one and even if he had, he would still have to land in the channel and swim in since broom-riding, like so many other magical pastimes, had been forbidden by the Revolutionary Committee. 

"Who's there?" a voice called out as Harry re-appeared by the stable doors. 

Since stealth was no longer an option, Harry called out, "It is I, Harry Potter." He thought he heard the sound of swearing but couldn't be certain until the stable door swung open. 

"What are you--" It was the groom that Harry had met by the maze a few days ago. He was in the same homespun outfit Harry had seen him in before, though a traveling cloak lay draped around his shoulders. The groom cleared his throat. "May I help you, sir?"

"I have…an errand," Harry said, trying to look convincing at two in the morning.

"Surely any errand can wait till it's light out, sir?" the groom went on, frowning. Harry had probably come upon him just as he was arriving back to the estate and he was eager for his bed.

"I'm afraid it can't," Harry said, pitching his voice with enough urgency to make his errand seem genuine but not so much that his frantic haste to be away was revealed. "Is your horse still saddled?" Harry cast his gaze over the man's shoulder to the gloomy stable beyond.

"She is, sir, but--"

"What is your name?" asked Harry, as though he had any right to it. He was only a guest in the house but Severus had never denied him any privilege. True, he had made him promise not to do anything foolish, but trying to head him off from what surely must be a trap wasn't foolish at all.

"Nettleship, sir, Toby Nettleship," repeated the groom with a bow.

"I'll have your horse if she's not too tired, Toby, or a fresh one if you deem her so," Harry said obligingly.

"Are you…leaving us, sir?" Toby asked, studying Harry.

"I told you, I have an errand," Harry said, thinking there must be a trick to getting servants to do what you wanted that he had never mastered. 

They stared at one another a long moment while Harry tried not to appear nervous. Then Toby pushed the stable door open and walked toward the waiting mare. "I'll have to be coming with you, sir," Toby said, grasping the reins.

"That's not necessary," Harry replied, as the groom swung up.

"Be my job if the master catches on I let you out at this time of night," Toby said, steadying the mare.

"I'll explain everything to him when he returns," Harry said, feeling the desperate minutes ticking away.

But Toby mutely held out his hand, offering no more arguments. Harry took it and pulled himself onto the horse's back, between Toby's splayed thighs. 

They trotted to the road before Toby spoke again. "Where are you bound, sir?"

"Dover," replied Harry promptly.

"At this hour?" Toby flicked the reins and turned the horse down the rutted lane. "We'll have to stop along the way and change the horse then. Why so far, sir?" Toby asked, once he had settled the horse's pace.

"It is where Sir Severus has gone," Harry replied, trying not to lean too far back into that broad chest.

"He won't thank you to follow him when he's told you to stay put," said Toby, speaking so softly that his voice was more growl than speech.

"I believe him to be walking into terrible danger," Harry said. The late hour was beginning to catch up with him but he remained rigidly upright, trying to focus on his goal.

A soft snort behind him led Harry to believe Toby wasn't taking his errand quite as gravely as Harry was. "Surely he's used to that, young sir," said Toby.

"That's as may be but never before on my own behalf and I cannot let him face it without letting him know all the facts." At least all the conversation was keeping his mind from dwelling too much on the danger that awaited Severus in France. 

"What facts are these?" asked Toby.

"You forget yourself, man," Harry said, swerving his head just enough to give the groom a weighty glare of displeasure.

"I forget nothing," Toby said, his mouth now so close to Harry's ear that the warm breath swirled inside it. "Not the way you smell, or the flush that runs between your nipples when you come or the way you gasp out my name when my mouth is around your cock."

"Sir!" Outraged Harry tried to turn, but Toby held him fast. "Release me," he demanded, trying not to spook the horse. 

But it was not their struggles making the horse whinny softly; it was the approach of another rider. Harry went still as a familiar voice called out, "Hallo?"

"Over here, Monsieur Lupin," Harry called out, before the groom got any further above his station. 

"Harry? What--" Lupin, astride a big bay gelding, came out of the shadows along the crossroad lane. "Harry? And --" He sighed expressively. "I might have known you wouldn't stay put."

"Stay put?" Harry protested, sill amazed that Nettleship still had one arm around him and had not cut off his voice. "Lupin, Severus is in danger!"

"Only of thrashing your bottom," murmured Nettleship.

"Severus is _always_ in danger," Lupin said, stroking his restless horse. "God, we haven't time for your lover's spat. Sirius is--"

"Lover's spat?" Harry yelped.

"Regrettably the real DeCharne has been detained by a sleeping potion he imbibed at the ball." Harry felt the body nestled so close to his on the horse shifting. "Fortunately not before revealing that Sirius is under orders not to be released to anyone but DeCharne," said the groom. Only he sounded less like Toby the groom and more like--

Lupin seemed to sag in relief. His horse cantered up beside theirs, still facing them. Toby's voice had lowered considerably and lost its West Country accent.

"Not before donating a few of his hairs, I trust," Lupin said smiling for the first time this evening.

The hand not holding Harry reached out and a glass vial disappeared into the folds of Lupin's robes. "You will not end up needing rescuing yourself Lupin?" said Severus's voice, as the body completed its transformation and joined the voice's owner. Lupin shook his head, as he turned his horse down the Dover road. "I believe the Black Asphodel has urgent matters to attend to at home." His fingers splayed over Harry's belly as he turned the horse's head back down the road they had come. "Matters that can, I think, no longer wait."

"You aren't the only one who can sneak out of Paris," Lupin said. "I believe DeCharne is about to acquire a large black dog." Severus's laugh followed on Lupin's heels as he spurred his horse and rode out of sight.

Harry relaxed against the arm still restricting his midsection. "Before I forgive you," he said, twisting around to confirm that indeed the body pressing quite close to him was Sir Severus attired as a groom. "Tell me, did you leave your armoire open on purpose?"

The soft chuckle was more arousing for being so close to his ear. "Is that what gave me away?" Severus dropped his hand along Harry's shoulder. "I thought it might have been this."

Harry remembered the whispered meeting with the Black Asphodel in the library and how his hand--Severus's hand--rested there. "Your ring!" he said at once and Severus nodded approvingly.

Severus stretched the arm out so that Harry could see the heavy old silver ring over the riding glove. "I forgot to take it off when I met you in the library. You cannot know how anxious I was to hear why you requested that meeting."

The surface of the ring mount was quite bare when Harry touched it. "It's under the Fidelius Charm," explained Severus. "No one can see the sigil unless I--" He nuzzled Harry's ear in a way that had nothing to do with revealing secrets and whispered, "Welcome to the League of the Black Asphodel." The surface of the ring shimmered and upon it appeared a sprig of asphodel.

"A family crest appropriated for more--"

"Worthy," Harry supplied with a shiver.

"Nefarious," said Severus. 

"It is not nefarious to save wizards from extinction in France," Harry argued. "Since they do not seem to be helping themselves."

"Many do," Severus said, "once they realize help is available and paths can be forged with or without magic. And some, like the Mafoys, simply refuse to see the danger they are in."

Harry nodded in understanding, clasping the ringed fingers with his own. He had heard of the results of Severus's work even in his cocoon at the theater, wizards circumventing the restrictions on their powers. Severus was not just a means of rescue but a symbol of how to resist.

"I didn't mean to keep anything from you," Harry said, lowering his head as he remembered their days of discord.

"Shhhh," Severus said soothingly. "I was too jealous of Draco's youth and beauty to see how you had spurned him at every juncture. I have spoken to the Marquis on his son's behavior in attacking you."

They had come to the low stone wall that marked the entrance to the lane leading to the house. The mare, perhaps sensing a warm stall and fresh straw turned down the path.

"I fear we must see the horse home before we can…celebrate our reunion," Severus said. He cleared his throat and for a moment Harry thought he sounded almost--

"We are having a reunion, aren't we?" asked Severus.

Nervous.

Harry pretended to think it over. "As long as you aren't hiding anything else from me, like you are secretly the heir to the throne."

"What a wretched fate," Severus said with a soft shudder that somehow drew their two bodies closer. 

"And you tell me everything I wish to know," Harry went on.

The horse clipped along the path, the only noise in the silent night until at last Severus sighed and nodded. "You have more right than anyone to the truth."

"Monsieur Lupin is one of your men?" Harry asked.

"He was the first. I'd been carrying on on my own then had a rescue suited to his unique abilities. He saw through the pretense I fabricated to obtain his aid and has worked with me ever since." He chuckled. "And he makes a very fine steward."

"He is not your--" Harry's hand must have tightened involuntarily on Severus's.

"My lover? No. His heart was bespoke years ago while we were at school. Unfortunately the object of his affections was cast out of his family for what he was and fled the country. I knew no more of the matter than that, for Remus does not easily confide his emotions, until I went to the theater in Paris."

"Did you go seeking Sirius?" Harry wanted to know. Revenge, no matter how little realized, was still bitter.

"Not at all, though I had heard his theater had a magnificent reputation. I went seeking tricks of make-up and costume to fool the guards. And found you instead."

Severus had started nuzzling the back of Harry's neck, no doubt to dissuade Harry from his questions. Stifling a whimper, Harry pressed on. "Why were you and Lupin on horseback tonight? Wouldn't it have been easier to Apparate to Dover?"

"Ah but he will need a horse once he arrives in France since he cannot Apparate or ride a broom on their soil. It is less suspicious, we have learned, if he arrives on his own horse than if he attempts to buy one in port. DeCharne has spies everywhere." He pushed his nose into the short hairs at the back of Harry's neck. "Urgency must sometimes be tempered with secrecy."

"Is that why you posed as a footman when you sent your carriage for me to leave Paris?" Harry asked. He could tell he had surprised Severus with this information.

"Better to have the guards focused on you rather than the fact that Severus Snape is leaving Paris when yet another person has eluded Madame Guillotine," he replied.

"The wine barrels?" guessed Harry. 

Severus nodded against his neck. Harry's hastily tied cravat was no match for the determined assault of his fingers. "The Comte and Comtesse Caramel."

The horse picked up pace now that the barn was in sight, spurred on by the welcoming nickers of fellow stable dwellers. Severus dismounted first before sliding Harry down close to his chest.

"Why?" Harry asked breathlessly, face to face with Severus in his own form for the first time since the stairs.

Severus kissed him, not hurriedly but as though he was filling a promise made long ago. "Why what, _cheri?" he asked, though he did not wait for the answer before covering Harry's mouth again as if to read the answer unspoken from his tongue. "Why are we not in bed?" Severus asked as if in answer to his own question. "Let me attend the horse and we shall be." He kept one arm around Harry and pulled out his wand, performing the necessary unsaddling and grooming charms before leading the mare back to her stall._

_"No, why do you do it? Risk your life for--" His question was swept away as soon as Severus wrapped his arms around him again and Apparated them both straight into his bedroom._

_"I like outwitting the French," admitted Severus, pointing his wand at the fireplace and starting it going before tucking his wand away. "Their regime does our kind a great harm." One finger hooked on the careless knot of Harry's nearly undone cravat, loosening it with gentle motions. "And I do not like, nor did I expect, the life of the idle rich this title forces upon me."_

_Harry moaned softly as the scrap of linen slid to the floor. He pulled Severus down by his own cravat, desperate for another of those needy kisses. "And you are very good at outwitting the French," Harry said, his fingers deftly coaxing the buttons to bid adieu to their buttonholes of the groom's homespun shirt._

_"Tis not my wits but my passions concerning me this evening," said Severus. Harry looked up from the patch of skin on Severus's chest, wondering at the uncertainty in the normally steady voice. Severus kissed him again as if gaining courage, the way a drunkard would seek out wine._

_"Your passions seem very certain to me," Harry said, pressing his hips into the snug breeches in front of him._

_"You have not asked me if I am utterly besotted with you," Severus said hoarsely._

_Harry hoisted himself on the high bed and pulled Severus between his splayed thighs. "Severus?"_

_"Hmm?"_

_Harry's finesse at buttons did not stop at shirts. "Are you besotted with me?" he asked, closing his eyes briefly as his hand slid into the now-open front of Severus's breeches, clasping the heated flesh within briefly before tugging the breeches down._

_"I am indeed, sir," replied Severus, stepping out of the groom's breeches as he pressed Harry back on the bed. "Utterly." A kiss to his throat. "Irrevocably." He pushed Harry's shirt open and trailed kisses down the revealed flesh. "Eternally." He seemed very determined to kiss places that were still covered by clothing so they assisted one another until there were no further barriers to their kisses._

_The feeling was so glorious, of being naked and free to touch and kiss and take delicious liberties after so long denied that neither spoke for many long moments. There were sounds other than words in the fire-lit room, wet sounds accompanied by moans and gasps. Harry did not need words to beg Severus to enter him, or the King's English to proclaim his joy when at last he had. Indeed there were no words at all to describe how perfect it felt to wrap himself around Severus, urging him with moans alone to bury himself deeper._

_The closest things to a word was a hissed 'yes' sucked out between kisses. Eternity did not seem nearly long enough to drink his fill of those needy kisses, Harry thought, finding his own release at Severus's skillful urging._

_When the only sounds in the room were the soft pants of satiation and the quiet pop of the fire Harry laughed as he realized they were still lying sideways on the bed, never having made the move that would bring them under the covers. Severus's head, currently weighting down his shoulder, lifted, expression curious._

_"You never asked me if I forgave you," Harry said, capturing a drop of sweat that had escaped from Severus's hairline._

_"If you have not, then, regrettably, I must tie you to this very bed and make love to you until you do," came the slightly slurred reply._

_"Regrettably?"_

_Severus nodded, coming, it seemed, to the same conclusion as Harry had about their sideways sprawl across the bed. He shifted, urging Harry the right way, stretching out beside him under the sheets before answering._

_"Most regrettably. I should much prefer keeping you with me of your own free will."_

_The stars overhead shone very bright where the ceiling was enchanted. Harry wondered if Lupin had arrived at Dover yet, whether his mission to liberate Sirius would be successful._

_"Then it would be very churlish of me not to forgive you," Harry said, "Since you have made such spectacular love to me."_

_"Spectacular?"_

_"Mmm," Harry said, drawing closer so that there were very few places along Severus's side that he was not touching. "And since you are quite besotted with me." He paused, because Severus had not asked him and probably never would. Harry, however, had no reservations in revealing his tender feelings. "As besotted, I hope, as I am with you."_

_Severus, who had seemed to be slipping into a languid sleep, was suddenly quite awake. "Besotted?"_

_"Quite." He lifted up on one elbow, dragging his fingers down Severus's cheek. "They seek him here." He dropped a kiss upon one cheek. "They seek him there." He flicked his tongue on one corner of Severus's mouth. "Those Frenchies seek him everywhere."_

_The sides of Severus's mouth quirked up in a smirk. "Is he in heaven?" he said taking up the verse, trailing a finger down Harry's belly. "Or is he in hell?" The finger did not stop when the surface was no longer quite so smooth._

_Harry completed the doggerel. "My own elusive Asphodel."_


End file.
